Pokémon: Warrior's Desire
by Ari Rockefeller
Summary: A new Pokémon tournament is in the making, but it's unlike any held to this date. The tournament looks intriguing, and entries are coming in all over. But who is behind the Lord of the Fight tournament? (Chapter 14 up!)
1. The Word Gets Out

For those of you who do not know me, let me introduce myself.  I am Ari Rockefeller, a writer at http://forums.fighters.net and http://tagmonkey.dx-games.com/forums.  I've written numerous works for both websites, but I haven't written for here yet.  This is my first attempt at writing for fanfiction.net.  It's going to be a fighting tournament - as in actual fighting - and here's the list of characters I will most likely use in this story...

Ash                  Brock               Misty                Gary                 Ritchie 

Tracey              Duplica             A.J.                  Drake               Lt. Surge

Sabrina             Koga                Blaine               Jessie               James

Butch               Cassidy             Bruno               Lance               Faulkner 

Morty               Chuck               Aya                  Will                  Janine

These people will (probably) appear, they just won't fight...

Agatha             Lorelei              Pryce               Whitney            Bugsy

Doesn't seem to make sense, does it?  Don't worry.  In some grand sense, it will.  As usual, none of the games, characters, or otherwise belong to me.  Now, let's get started...

POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE 

TIME:  Towards the end of Jhoto

LOCATION:  Currently at Oak Laboratories, Pallet Town

It's another beautiful day in Kanto.  A great day to be alive!  All over, from the smallest towns to the biggest cities, the region is bustling with activity.

***YAWN***

Okay, so it was a boring day.  Especially the sleepy little burg of Pallet Town.  Nothing really out of the ordinary was going on.

At the world-famous Oak Laboratories, it was just another day on the plantation.  Professor Samuel Oak was going about his usual daily activities.  Outside, in the wide-open fields, the Pokémon ran free range.  Most of which were caught by the five trainers whom started their journey in Pallet years ago, but a few were special cases (i.e. special research projects).

Five young children left Pallet on that day so many years ago, four boys and a girl.  Two of the boys and the girl didn't get farther than the first round in the Indigo League and left the Pokémon scene soon after.  His grandson, Gary Oak, he noticed had grown much more jaded and cynical.  He trains hard every day, and while being the greatest is the reason Gary gives, the professor knows full well what the real reason is.  He wants to make Ash Ketchum admit that Gary is, and always was, a better Pokémon trainer than he ever could be.

But both of their egos would see to it that such an event would _never_ take place.

Ash Ketchum.  The young man who overslept the day he received his Pokémon license and got last dibs on a starting Pokémon.  Ash Ketchum, the young man who, honestly, looked the least promising of the five trainers.  Ash Ketchum, the young man who defeated the Jhoto League Elite, as well as the champion, Lance, and achieved his dream of becoming a Pokémon master.

            The duties for the morning now completed, Professor Oak went back inside the house.  He went into the kitchen, and saw mostly everything the same as he left it when he rose for the day.  The mail was plopped onto the table, but that was about it.  Seeing that, he looked around for his grandson.  Gary had most likely slept in this morning, probably got up to use the bathroom and went back to bed.  The Professor thumbed through the mail…bills, junk mail, noting of particular interest.  But something caught his eye.

            "Hmmm…what's this?" he asked himself.  It was an official letter from the World Pokémon League.  He opened the envelope, and pulled out its contents.  It was official information regarding a new kind of tournament to take place within…three years?  "Why would they send out pamphlets on it now?"  As he sat down to a bagel with cream cheese and some cranberry juice, he looked through the information.  It was a tournament sanctioned by the League, but it was radically different from anything he had seen before.  After thumbing through it, going over a few parts several times, he smiled inwardly, and went to the phone.

            "This is something right up Ash's alley," he said to himself, dialing the Ketchum residence.

TIME:  Simultaneously

LOCATION:  Ketchum house, Pallet

            Don't tell me it's morning already…

            Ash groaned in bed as the mid-morning sun shone through his window onto his bed.  He instinctively rolled over to the side, and found no one there.  Slowly sitting up, he realized he was alone in his room.

            For the most part, the few weeks after he won the Jhoto League were the most hectic of his life.  He achieved his dream of being a Pokémon master in doing so, and was the newest star in the Pokémon world.  Between public appearances, endorsements, and the like, Ash was pulling in mad money for himself.  Well, not just for himself.  He was happy to give a portion of his newfound income to his mother.  Now, Delia Ketchum no longer had to work two jobs just to keep things together for herself and her son.  She could finally relax.

            Which is more than what can be said about Ash.  The past week and a half, he had been in New York City, appearing on a few morning programs, as well as _The Late Show_ and _Late Night with Conan O'Brien.  _While traveling is something Ash loves, as well as the excitement of his first visit to The Big Apple, he is very easily affected by jet lag.  When he got home, he slept quite a while, the exhaustion of all those years of travel seeming to hit him all at once.  It's good to be the king, but heavy is the head that wears the crown.

            He looked around his room as he sat up.  Many of the relics (pictures, old awards, etc.) from his earlier years were still around, but there some notable changes as well.  Gone were his bunk beds from when he was a little kid.  Now, in its place was a full-sized bed, as well as a futon on the other side of the room directly across from it.  A few posters of supermodels and wall scrolls from such animes as _Rurouni Kenshin, Ninja Scroll, Trigun, _and _Dragon Ball Z _adorned his walls.  His TV and DVD setup was on one wall, with several games of his newly purchased PlayStation2 and GameCube not even opened yet.

            And speaking of his bed...Misty's warmth still lingered on the space next to where he slept.  Which most likely meant she had only recently gotten up herself.  The blankets which were on the futon were thrown aside, meaning Brock had also gotten up – probably earlier, knowing him – and gone off to do his thing.  Sitting up straight, he rolled his neck out with two resounding cracks.  He stretched his back, and then got up out of bed.  He found an old, yellow t-shirt on the ground, still in the same spot from last night (he started sleeping without any shirt on recently).  He walked out of his room and down the stairs to the kitchen, clad in said shirt and an old pair of blue mesh shorts.

            He saw someone in the kitchen as he walked off the landing of the steps.  It couldn't have been his mother; the one job she did keep was her older one at the newspaper.  She took up a second job as a hostess at a local restaurant called Façade when her husband left her and Ash was about five.  Which means she'd be at work right now.

            As he walked in, the assumption he secretly had was correct.  There was Misty, her hair down, draped over her shoulders, and wearing a long red nightshirt.  She was moving back and forth from the stove to the refrigerator, preparing breakfast.  A glance out the kitchen window, and there was Brock, apparently meditating.  He was sitting on the picnic table, not moving the slightest.  Misty saw Ash appear in the kitchen and walked up to him.

            "Morning," she said with a smile, draping her arms around him.

            "Good morning, Misty," Ash said, just before they kissed.  As they did, Ash's hands found her shapely hips, and in a flash, reached under her shirt and he squeezed her butt with both hands.  She was either wearing a thong or no underwear at all, because his hands didn't find any fabric covering her.

            She struggled against him, pulling away frantically.  "Ash!  _Stop it!"_ she shouted, laughing.  Ash pursued and started tickling her.

            "What's the matter?" he said, smirking himself.

            "Your hands are _ice cold!_" She finally broke free, some distance between them.  She was breathing heavily.  With a satisfied sigh, Ash sat down, Pikachu in the chair next to him.  He hopped up on the table and walked over to him, and Ash started to scratch behind his ears.

            "You're up earlier than I thought," she said, turning on one of the burners.

            "Yeah, I know," he said.  "Guess I just got tired of sleeping...I'm so worn out it's not even funny."  He got up and went to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of grapefruit juice.  There wasn't too much left, so he drank what was left straight from the bottle.  "I can't possibly imagine what kind of promo I'll be asked to do next."

            "Just tell them you aren't feeling up to it, that's all."

            "Wish it were that easy."  He lobbed the now empty bottle into the recycling bin.  "Guess now that I'm a Pokémon master, a lot of newbie trainers and such are gonna want to look up to me."  He scoffed.  "I'm not a role model; you above all else should know that."

            She giggled.  "Next thing you know, you'll be doing commercials beside Alf."  The heavy groan her boyfriend let out made her laughter louder.

            "That'll be the day I believe that there is no God."  Just then, the phone rang.  **_Ring-ring-ring, ring-ring-ring, phone call, phone call!  Ring-ring-ring, ring-ring-ring, phone call, phone call!_**  Ash and Misty exchanged glances before Ash slowly reached for the phone.  "I should change that ring tone sometime..." He picked up the phone and turned on the screen.  "Hello?"

            "Hello, Ash!" the Professor's voice called.  His picture appeared on the picture phone.

            "Hey, Professor Oak," he said, yawning.  Pikachu called to him from Ash's lap.  "How's it going?"

            "Pretty good.  Thanks for asking.  Listen, Ash?  Have you checked your mail yet today?"

            Ash fumbled through the pile of mail on the table.  Earlier, when he came down with Misty, Pikachu hopped up on the table and laid on the mail.  Ash had told Brock and Misty that Pikachu loved lying on paper – usually newspapers.  "Um, yeah, anything special to look for?"

            "Do you see anything from the Pokémon League, Ash?"

            "No.  Why, what's up?"

            "There's this new Pokémon tournament the League is starting.  You should come to my lab as soon as you get a chance.  I think you'll really enjoy this!"

            "Cool.  Hey, we'll be over in a little while, alright?  I just woke up a little while ago."

            "Pika chu!"  {Lazy bastard, you!}

            Professor Oak chuckled.  "Alright, then.  Don't worry; I'm not going anywhere.  Goodbye!"

            "See ya later, Professor."  With that, Ash hung up the phone.  The back door opened, and Brock strode in, a towel draped over his shoulders.

            "Who was that?" Brock asked.

            "The professor," Ash answered.  "He got word of some new tournament sanctioned by the League."

            "He sounded like he was being pretty vague about it," Misty said.  "Didn't he say that they just made this tournament?"

            "Something like that."  Brock, Misty and Ash sat down to the pancakes that Misty prepared.  They decided that after they ate and got ready for the day, they would go to see Professor Oak and find out what he was talking about.

TIME:  About an hour later

LOCATION:  Oak Laboratories

            The three kids enjoyed their breakfast – Ash told Misty about this several times – and as they cleaned up the mess they made, they got ready for the day.  Of course they wouldn't have taken as long if Misty hadn't snuck into the shower with Ash and had a little fun with him...

            As they walked up to Professor Oak's, Brock was a bit ahead of Ash and Misty, so he didn't get to – and probably didn't want to – see Ash and Misty with their arms around each other's waist, with Ash occasionally sliding his hand down her side, until Misty would grab him harshly by two fingers, bending them in a way so that Ash would keep his hands to himself.

            "Would you two stop it already?" Brock shouted as they approached the front door of the Oaks.  He knocked loudly on the door, and waited a few moments until the door opened.

            "Oh, great..." Gary Oak said, disgusted at the site of these three losers.  Vintage Gary.  No matter what Ash did, no matter how many fans Ash had, Gary would still consider him a loser.  So dense, he is.  "What do _you_ want?"

            "We came to see the professor," Ash started.

            "Oh really?  Well, what makes you think _he _wants to see _you?_"

            "Gimme a break, Gary!  I don't feel like – "

            "Enough," Brock interrupted sternly.  "He called us a little while ago, said he wanted us to drop by about some new tournament..."

            "New tournament?"  Gary looked puzzled and upset.  "Why would he want to tell you about it?  Why wasn't I the first to know?"

            Misty was growing upset with this argument between the three boys.  With a huff, she strode past Gary, ignoring his objections.  "Buzz off," she said with a wave of her hand.

            "Misty, wait!" Ash said, passing Gary without a second glance.  Brock sighed, and walked in as well.  Gary shut the door behind them.

            The professor was in his study, at his desk, looking over the same information he told Ash about over the phone.  He almost didn't hear the four of them enter the room.  He stood up as he greeted them, Ash, Misty and Brock sitting down on the couch, with Gary and Professor Oak taking the couch directly across from them.  A coffee table separated the two.

            "So what's this about?" Ash asked, excited.

            "Well Ash," Oak started, "I just received this information in the mail today."  He slid the papers over the coffee table to him.  Brock and Misty looked over his shoulder at them when Ash leaned forward and read them.  "The World Pokémon League is sanctioning a martial arts tournament to be held three years from now.  From what I understand it, it's open to all challengers."

            "A martial arts tournament?" Ash exclaimed, his eyes lighting up.  "Sweet!  What's it called?"

            "They're calling it 'Lord of the Fight' tournament."

            Gary, Brock, even Misty were giving Ash strange looks as he went over the papers too fast to let anything sink in.  "Man, this is gonna be awesome!"  He was smiling brightly now.

            "What are you so exited about?" Gary said.  He motioned to Ash.  "Let me see those things!"  Ash passed the papers to Gary, who gave them a glance over.  Again, he didn't get why Ash was getting so excited.  "So...?"

            "I'm entering this tournament, no doubt about it!"  He clenched his fist tightly, but settled down when he noticed the looks the other kids gave him.  "What?"

            "You don't know how to fight!" Gary snapped.  "And you think you do, I'll be glad to disprove your little theory."

            Ash was up and about by now, pacing around the room.  He moved a small table with a lamp on it out of his way, afraid that what he was about to do would break it.  "It's been a few years, I know," he started, almost shyly.  "But..." On that note, he broke into a small kata {martial arts form} which he had not performed in years, but had performed perfectly.

            "When did you learn how to do that, Ash?" Misty asked.

            "I didn't know you took karate," Brock added.

            Professor Oak chuckled as Ash leaned on the back of the sofa Brock and Misty were sitting on.  "Ash has been studying Sho...something or other..."

            "Shorinji Kempo," Ash clarified.  "And I've been taking it up since I was 4, years before my Pokémon journey.  Haven't earned my black belt yet, though."

            "What rank are you?" Misty asked, turning around to face him.

            "I'm a red belt, last I was there."  He rubbed his chin, his eyebrows furrowing.  "That reminds me.  I'd like to test for my black belt before the tournament, but I haven't really practiced too hard for quite a while.  I feel a bit out of touch."

            "Back to master Genju, huh Ash?" the professor said.

            "Bet he'll be surprised to see me again!"  He struck a gallant pose, looking off as though he were looking into the future.  "Look out, world!  I'm going to show the entire world what I'm really made of!  I am Ash Ketchum, and I will not rest until I am crowned the Lord of the Fight!"

            As Ash's star-struck rant went on, Brock contemplated the details.  He was also getting a dose of vintage Ash Ketchum.  Whenever there was word of a new tournament relating to Pokémon, Ash was always the first one in line to sign up for it.  And he was always there for him, through thick and through thin, good times and bad.

            Brock had his mind made up as well.  Only, his mind is set on entering the tournament as well.

NAME:  Ash Ketchum

STYLE:  Shorinji Kempo

DOB:  19 March 1988

HEIGHT:  4'9"

WEIGHT:  117 lbs.

HOBBY:  Pokémon Training

FAVORITE FOOD:  Mother's home cooking

MOST IMPORTANT:  His Pokémon, especially Pikachu

LIKES:  Pokémon, friends

DISLIKES:  Other people suffering; Gary


	2. Planting the Seeds

POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE

Usual disclaimers apply.  These characters do not belong to me.

Oh, and from now on, just like with last chapter, I'll post a bio of the fighters involved in the tournament.  This way, you get to know a little bit more about your favorite character.

TIME:  Later that afternoon

LOCATION:  Ketchum residence.

            "You're...leaving?  Why?"

            Hours after the meeting at Professor Oak's place, Ash, Misty and Brock headed back to Ash's house.  For about an hour after they returned, Ash spent almost an hour going over moves that he felt he needed the most refining.  While Misty, Togepi and Pikachu watched on, they didn't notice that Brock was staring off into nothing, occasionally shifting positions.  Ash's enthusiasm about fighting in this obscure tournament seemed foolish, but it intrigued him.  At Professor Oak's, he had a flickering notion to sign up; by the time he got back to Ash's, that flicker turned into a burning desire.  He didn't even move or make a sound until Ash noticed him being left out.  "Hey Brock," Ash had asked, "you wanna come and spar with me for a while?"  He tapped his fists together and was bouncing around in his stance.  That's when he told him he was leaving.

            "Why are you leaving?" Misty asked, just as worried as Ash was.  They at least agreed to help him with his things...after an explanation.

            "Seeing Ash today..." he started, "made me think."  The three were in Ash's room as he spoke, Brock seated on the futon, Ash and Misty seated on Ash's bed.  "The way you have your mind and your heart set on something you know little about – if it weren't for the professor calling you, you probably would've never heard of this, right?"

            "I guess you could say that," Ash said.

            "First off, it's nothing _against_ you in any way.  It's just that...I dunno...with you more in the spotlight than ever before, I've been feeling...left out."

            "Left out?  Of what?"

            "The action."  He smiled at him.  "You don't think I'm gonna be content to just sit back and watch you hog all the glory, are ya?"  He laughed gently at the end of his question.

            "But that means..." Misty started.

            "...we may have to face one another in the tournament," Ash concluded.

            "Yep," Brock added, standing.  "You don't hear me complaining, do you?"

            Ash paused, then stood as well, smiling, and looking Brock in his eyes.  "I've got no complaints about it either," he said.  "I think it's awesome that you've decided to enter!  And I can't wait until we meet!"

            "Neither can I, Ash," Brock said.  "Neither can I."

            "But Brock," Misty asked, "where are you going to go?  Why don't you stay here and train with Ash?"

            "This is something I owe to myself, Misty.  Besides, it's been my dream to study under who I've chosen."

TIME:  Hours Later

LOCATION:  Docks at Vermilion City

            _I set up my appointment while I was getting packed.  He said to meet me at the Viridian City harbor.  We'll set sail as soon as possible._  This is what Brock had told them.  He also asked his friends to join him on his departure.

            They caught a bus from Pallet to Viridian, and after a short walk through the city, they arrived at their destination.  For almost a half an hour, Brock, Misty and Ash were wandering around the harbor, with Brock finding no sight of his soon-to-be master and the other two having no idea who to look for.

            "You sure this is the spot?" Ash asked, pacing back and forth the same little walkway for the fuckteenth time.  In his boredom, he hopped in and out of his stance, occasionally throwing a few punches in the air.

            "Positive," Brock reassured.  He looked around the area where they were to meet.  Several other ships dotted the area – even the S.S. Anne was docked in Viridian today – glancing over the small sailboat that seemed nonexistent amongst the larger ships in the area.  Brock looked at the sky.  It had grown cloudier today...almost like it was going to rain.  Could a little ship like this one survive in a storm, should the crew's misfortune run into one?

            "I sensed you would come."

            A deep, yet calming voice appealed to the three.  At once, it seemed, they turned around to where the voice came from.  That's when they saw him.  He was about 6'6", 300 lbs., easily.  He was tanned and muscular, and had spiky, black hair.  He was wearing a sleeveless (and by sleeveless, it means torn off) jacket, half unzipped, and the bottom of a karate gi with a black belt.  A yellowed duffle bag, which had seen better days, was slung over his shoulder.  The three met this man before, and Ash defeated him on the way to the Jhoto League championship.

            "Hello, Brock."

            "Master Bruno," Brock said, suddenly standing up straight.  "H-have you been here long?"

            "I was watching the three of you for a while, I'll admit."  He looked at Ash and Misty.  "I see the glitz and glamour that came with your new celebrity status hasn't corrupted you, Ashura."

            "They try, the gods know they try," Ash said, rubbing the back of his head.  "I would've never guessed being a Pokémon master could be such a drain on your very being."

            Bruno chucked, then turned to Brock.  "Are you ready to leave?"

            "Yes.  Just let me say goodbye to my friends, first."  Bruno went to prepare his boat for the voyage, leaving the three alone.  "Well guys, this is it."

            "Good luck during your training," Misty said as she hugged him.

            "We're gonna miss ya, Brock-O," Ash said as Brock threw his arms around him.

            "See you at the tournament."  That was all Brock needed to say to him.  He walked down to Bruno and his boat.  Bruno stopped him abruptly.

            "Wait a second," Bruno said.  "Before you come on this boat, I want you to be absolutely sure you wish to train under my tutelage."

            "I am."

            "You understand that the road you're going to venture will be long, difficult, and will have its share of hardships.  I can't promise you it will be easy, and if it were, you won't be able to realize you're full potential."

            "I understand."

            "Regardless of what happens, I don't want you to quit, no matter what happens."

            "I won't."

            "I want you to be certain of it."  He looked Brock dead in the eyes.  "Promise me this."

            "I promise...I'll never give up," Brock said in a stern voice.

            For a moment, nothing passed between the two.  Eventually, Bruno turned around and motioned for Brock to come on to the boat.  "Let's go."  He followed, and set his backpack with all his possessions in it down, as Bruno weighed anchor and unfurled the sail.  As the boat drifted away, Ash and Misty waved goodbye to their friend.

            "Goodbye, Brock!" Ash shouted, waving, Pikachu waving from the top of his head.  "Take care of yourself!"

            "Pika pi ka!"  {Stay safe, Brock!}  Pikachu shouted.

            "Don't forget to write!" Misty shouted, her Togepi squealing his goodbye to Brock.

            "I'll be back someday!" Brock shouted, seeing the image of his two friends fade away.

TIME:  Hours later

LOCATION:  Out on the water, en route to Olivine City

            "So where are we going, exactly?"

            "I have a place up in the mountains behind Blackthorn City.  We will be spending most of our time and training there."

            Brock nodded in acknowledgment.  So far, the boat ride on Bruno's modest little ship was uneventful.  The sea was peaceful, the waves breaking against the boat calmly.  As Bruno steered the ship, Brock stared out into the endless blue, trying to imagine what the next few years would bring for him.

            The sudden dim broke his concentration.  Brock looked up and saw that the sun had disappeared behind a wall of thick, dark gray clouds.  Bruno noticed this as well.  The wind picked up, and he went to work taking down the sail.

            "Master," Brock asked, "what's up?"

            "There's a storm coming in," he said, heading for the back of the boat.  There was a decent-sized outboard motor there, used only in emergency situations (such as a storm, when high winds and heavy rain could threaten to tear apart his sail).  The wind whipped, the rain started to fall.  Bruno was guiding the boat through the storm, even as it rained harder, lashing against both he and his new student.

            Guided by the light of the Olivine Light House, about another hour and a half later, the two of them finally made it to the port at Olivine City.  The rain stopped as they passed through the city, but Brock's wet clothing was bothering him.  Bruno could feel how the boy was thinking, so he decided they should both stop at the Pokémon center and get changed.

            No sooner than they left they were standing on the outskirts of Olivine, Bruno staring at the mountains in the distance.  "I am located there, in the mountains," he told Brock.  "If we continue at a good pace, we can make it there by sunset."

            "Sounds like a plan to me," Brock said.  After that, few, if any words were exchanged between master and student as they traveled through Jhoto up into the mountains.  Brock had been through this area before, when he and Misty accompanied Ash in his Pokémon journey.  But now, things were different.

            For Brock was embarking on a journey of his own. 

NAME:  Brock Ballas

STYLE:  Martial arts techniques based on Judo and Wrestling

DOB:  27 July 1985

HEIGHT:  5'10"

WEIGHT:  180 lbs.

HOBBY:  Pokémon Breeding, Girl watching

FAVORITE FOOD:  Fast food

MOST IMPORTANT:  His 10 younger brothers and sisters

LIKES:  His Vulpix, cute girls

DISLIKES:  Rejection


	3. Rhythmic Island Beats

POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE

Usual disclaimers apply.  These characters do not belong to me.

TIME:  Simultaneously with Chapters 1 and 2

LOCATION:  Troveta Beach, Troveta Island.

            Faster...must go faster...

            The hot, 90º sun burned down harshly on the largest of the Orange Islands during the midday.  Many residents of Troveta, as well as about twice as many tourists, crowded the streets and populating the beaches heavily.  This beach in particular was the most beautiful beach on the island – perhaps in the entire archipelago – and it could be seen in the crystal clear waters and the gorgeous white sand.

            But for one ambitious young man, today wasn't about having fun in the sun.

            He was running in the soft sands of the beach, a few yards from where the ocean water lapped at the beach.  His legs burned, sweat dripped off his face.  The heavy humidity didn't help him in any way.  But he needed to do this to be in shape.  He can't hear the ocean, or the din of the people on the beach.  Through his portable CD player, Dream Theater is blasting at a high volume through his headphones.  As the CD goes into _Strange Déjà Vu_, he picks up his pace, occasionally spitting out a lyric or two as he burns to take in air.

            Tracey Sketcher made a habit of doing this three or four times a week to keep fit.  Since Ash won the Jhoto League championship, he chose to leave Pallet Town and Professor Oak's plantation, having enjoyed his time studying under the professor.  This was a few months ago. Time at home and his enacting an exercise routine made him feel better, and got him taking his Pokémon training more seriously.

            Nothing is breaking his concentration.  He is aware of his surroundings, and makes an effort to avoid anyone who may be playing that might be in his path.  Among the beachgoers are numerous beautiful women – some who came with their friends, boyfriends, or just alone.  Tracey didn't really have time for a serious relationship, he thought.  An occasional date every now and then, but that was about it.  He suddenly thought about Brock, and how girl crazy he went even at the sight of _a fully clothed _Nurse Joy or Officer Jenny.

            If Brock were here, the ocean would run red with the blood that poured from his nose.

            But one gorgeous figure caught his eyes...and totally destroyed his concentration.

            Tracey didn't see her face, as she was laying face down on a beach towel, wearing a very skimpy thong bikini.  Such outfits were a common site on this beach, but for some reason, Tracey was drawn to this woman...like he had met her somewhere before...

            "Oh...man!" Tracey said to himself, his eyes locked on the girl's form, not noticing a few guys playing Frisbee no more than a few feet in front of him.

            HRRRMPH!!!

            Tracey collided with one of the guys, and they both fell to the sand.  The Frisbee clattered beside them, Tracey's CD player coming detached from his belt and the disc becoming stuck in the sand.

            "Hey, watch where you going!" one of them said.

            "Gee, I'm sorry," Tracey said, humbly.  "I didn't see you there..." Noticing the cord on his headphones dangling freely, he looked around for his CD Walkman and CD.  The disk was just where it had landed and was alright save for some sand.  The player, however, was broken in half, the lid detached from the bottom half.  He snapped the two pieces back together, put in the CD, and was about to be on his way.

            Another one of the group stepped in front of him.  "Hey, where do you think you're going, punk?" he asked.  He was much taller than Tracey, by about an entire head.  Tracey didn't back down, though.

            "Look, I said I was sorry, alright?" Tracey asked, growing impatient.  He had his open hands out in front of him as the three surrounded him.  Regardless, one shoved Tracey from behind, into the one directly in front of him.  Soon, the three bounced Tracey around their little circle, into an all out shoving contest.  Finally, after one last hard shove, Tracey landed flat on his ass, the wet sand soaking his shorts.

            "Get up, kid!  We're not finished with you!"

            This was enough to set Tracey off.  Normally, he was a reserved guy, not one to let his temper get the best of him.  But, this was an exception to that rule.

            For just a short second, Tracey lifted his butt an inch off the ground, so he was in a crab position.  In what was a dazzling move (to the beach bums, anyway), he whipped his legs around behind him, in almost a break dance-esque move, whipped them in front of him, taking one of the goons off of his feet.  He fell flat on his back onto the sand.

            "What the fuck?!" the third shouted.  Tracey kipped-up, and was in his fighting stance, but it in itself was something these three haven't seen, not in all the kung-fu movies they've seen in their lives (which, coincidentally, is where they got it in their head that they can fight).  Tracey was hunched over forward, his legs moving him from side to side in an arc, his arms rhythmically moving in front of him, the first line of defense for blocking an oncoming attack.  "This isn't a dance contest, yo!"

            "You wanna dance?" Tracey asked.  "Let's dance!"  The first thug got back to his feet by now, and came at Tracey again.  In one fluid motion, Tracey dipped down, his leg tripping up the goon, and was right back to his feet.  Another came at him from the side, and Tracey snapped down, his hands at his left foot and his head on his knee, while at the same time, his opposite leg came up and clubbed the attacker in the head, the sole of his shoe smacking against his cheek.

            The second was off balanced, which is when Tracey jumped straight up in the air, higher than he is tall, and drove his other foot down into the side of his neck.  He stumbled for a few steps, and then fell face down into the wet sand, the waves breaking against his back.

            _By now they're wondering what the hell style I'm using, _Tracey thought as he landed.  When he landed, the third latched his arms around Tracey's waist, ensnaring his arms.  The first lunged forward, attempting to knock his block off.  But in a surprised move, Tracey ran forward anyway, his feet forward, slamming into his gut, and walking up him until he flipped completely behind the third.  He jumped again, performing a spinning heel kick in air (both feet), and they slammed into the small of his back.  The third lurched forward in pain, his head slamming into the first before he collapsed in a heap.  Using the downed thug's back for some additional lift, Tracey jumped at the first, bringing both of his feet around the thug's neck.  He kept his feet around his neck as he fell down to the sand on his shoulders, but before the first could react, Tracey spun his body, letting his legs twist into an unusual position, the thug flying headfirst into the sand away from him.  Tracey set himself back on his feet.

            Realizing what he just did, Tracey started to back away.  The sight of the three people laid out on the sand and the people gawking in awe at the fight that just took place.  Tracey started to back away faster, when he felt a particular, all too familiar set of eyes staring at him.  He instinctively turned around to see the face of the girl that, in a way, caused this whole debacle to take place.  His eyes bugged.

            "Those were some nice moves, cutie," Lorelei said.

            Tracey was suddenly at a loss for words.  "M-M-Ms. Prima?" he managed to get out.  His lower lip quivered, no words coming from his mouth.  He took in the sight of Lorelei Prima in that suit she was wearing – the same color as the ocean – and was even more shocked.  "W...Wow!"

            She smiled and motioned to the empty spot on her beach blanked beside her.  He snapped down beside her, sitting Indian style.  "It sure is a surprise to see you again," she said.  "Tracey, was it?"

            "Yeah, I'm Tracey," he said, rubbing the back of his head nervously.  "You remembered, huh?"

            "I couldn't forget you, or your friend, for that matter.  I was quite surprised when I learned your friend Ash beat the Jhoto League."

            "So was I.  He's really thrilled to be a Pokémon master.  It's been his dream, you know."

            "I know."  She turned to look out at the sea, smiling to herself.  "So what brings you to the beach?"

            Tracey shrugged, "Just doing some running, nothing special.  I wasn't expecting to run into those goons."  His mood soured a little, and Prima picked up on it right away.

            "I must admit, I've never seen such a unique use of Capoeira before."

            Tracey smiled a bit.  "Really?  Thanks!  I was wondering when someone was gonna pick up on that!  Those guys didn't know what hit them, did they?"

            She chucked.  "They were watching too many kung fu movies, obviously."  She leaned over to her opposite side, and picked up a few pieces of paper.  She handed them to Tracey, and much to their surprise, the letterheads all bore the World Pokémon League logo.

            "What are these?" he asked, looking them over.

            "Well, as you know," she started, "for the past three years or so, I've been working as a high-level executive in the Pokémon League – you know, behind-the-scenes stuff.  It pays well and all, but it took a lot of time out of my actual Pokémon competitions; that's why I left the Elite Four a while ago."

            "You still teach, and occasionally battle though, right?"

            "Naturally.  Anyway, we've recently approved a new tournament, sanctioned by the League, of course, and while it technically _is _a Pokémon tournament, it's going to be a martial arts contest open to all comers.  I think you'd do fairly well in it, Tracey."

            "Sounds like it'll be fun," he said, skimming through the trifolded letters.  "When's it going to start?"

            "It's technically still provisional; it's too early to tell if it's going to take place at all.  We need to see what the feedback on it is.  We've sent information out already.  Chances are, your friend Ash may have already learned about it.  And knowing him, he can't resist a challenge, can he?"

            "No way in hell he can."  He folded up the papers, and stood.  "Thanks for the info, Ms. Prima.  I appreciate it!"  He stuffed the papers in his back pocket, and turned to walk away, when her voice called to him.

            "You've got plenty of time to get ready, Tracey.  Don't let it go to waste, alright?"

            "Don't worry, I won't!"

            "Oh, and Tracey?"

            Tracey froze again and looked at her.

            "Call me Lorelei, alright?"

            Sweatdropping, Tracey nodded in agreement, then turned and walked away, finishing up his run.  Though he felt bad about beating people up, the fight he was in and the moves he displayed got him fired up.  His legs carried him faster than before, the heat seeming to have minimal effect on him.  Now if he could only remember what track his CD was on.... 

NAME:  Tracey Sketcher

STYLE:  Capoeira

DOB:  10 February 1985

HEIGHT:  5'3"

WEIGHT:  139 lbs.

HOBBY:  Pokémon watching, drawing

FAVORITE FOOD:  Fruit and vegetable dishes

MOST IMPORTANT:  His sketchpad

LIKES:  Peace and quiet

DISLIKES:  Pollution, violence


	4. If This is Your First Night, You Have to...

POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE

Usual disclaimers apply.  These characters do not belong to me.

TIME:  Simultaneously with Chapter 2, though at night

LOCATION:  Basement of the Vermilion City Gym

              Loud voices were shouting in every which way.  The stench of sweat, blood and a hint of flatulence was heavy in the stuffy basement of the Vermilion city Pokémon gym.  By day, it was where aspiring trainers fought – and oftentimes squarely defeated – in the hopes of earning a Thunder Badge.  At night, it was another story.

            The gym's was the locale of the Vermilion City Fight Club.

            Many of the combatants in the club were from Vermilion, but once in a while, a few out-of-towners came by for a visit.  There were few new people from meeting to meeting, because rules 1 and 2 are simply put – the best-known rules –  "You do not talk about Fight Club."

            A few dozen people gathered in the Vermilion fight club every week, down in the basement of the gym amongst bad lighting and brutal fights.  The fights took place on old wrestling mats hastily taped together and to the floor with duct tape.  Blood stains covered them here and there, and the mats themselves had turned from their original blue to a rusty reddish color.

            The leader of the bunch – the one who organized these weekly rituals – was the same man who ran the Vermilion city gym.  In his eyes, there would be no better place to host it then at the very gym that he controls.  The burly marine, 1st Lt. Jason Surge, stalked around the hoards of people cheering and taunting the fighters currently beating the hell out of each other.  His Raichu followed him closely, his wide body shifting in between the spectators.  Surge smiled at the sight before him.  One of his thug trainers, a British punk rock enthusiast, was straddling the waist of his opponent, a resident Tae Kwan Do school owner named Hong Lin.  The rocker grabbed the back of Lin's hair, and slammed his face into the ground repeatedly.  They were on the edge of the mat, and Lin would get to taste the concrete as his face was slammed repeatedly against the unforgiving floor.  With each slam, more and more blood poured from his nose and mouth, cumulating in a puddle where he was being slammed.  At the sight of a shard of tooth dropping from his mouth into said puddle, that was enough.

            "N...no m-more..." Hong choked out.  The rocker got up and walked away, his fists raised in victory, the crowd cheering wildly.  Hong struggled to pull himself to his feet, before a large hand grabbed him by the back of the neck, flinging him aside.

            "Great.  Now git outta here!" Surge shouted, kicking him in the ass to emphasize his point.  He turned around to the ring.  The winner of the last fight was nowhere to be seen, disappearing into the crowd.  Unconsciously, he unzipped his vest, and his hands found the buttons of his shirt, and were in the process of undoing them one by one. He was preparing to engage in a fight himself.

            Another rule of Fight Club – "No shirts, no shoes".

            Before he could remove his size 15 steel-toed army boots, he felt a tug on the back of his knee.  His Raichu tugged at his pants with one paw and had something in his other.

            "What is it, Raichu?" Surge asked, casting an over-the-shoulder glance at his Pokémon.

            "Raichu, rai, rai...rai, Raichu," {That Tae Kwan Do guy dropped this,} Raichu responded.

            The lieutenant held out his hand, and Raichu placed the papers in it.  Unfolding them, he gave the papers a glance over.  It was the same information regarding the new Lord of the Fight tournament to be sanctioned by the World Pokémon League.  "Hmmm...a fighting tourney?  T'ree years from now?  Say.........d'at sounds like fun!  Don't it, Raichu?"

            "Raichu!" {I say go for it!}

            "I t'ink I shall.  Gotta get in ta training, though.  Every little bit counts!"  He discarded his vest and his shirt, revealing his tanned physique, his well-defined, hairy chest, and his bulging arm muscles with the Marine slogan _Semper Fi _tattooed on his right bicep.  He pulled off and dropped his boots onto his shirts, stuffing the information in his left boot.  There were numerous groans and shouts as he stepped onto the mats.  It was a rare treat that the operator of the fight club actually fought.  But what a welcome sight it was.

            He raised his hands, palms opened, and gradually the crowd calmed down.  When there wasn't any other sound than that of Surge's knuckles cracking, he spoke.  "So who wants some?!" he shouted.

            Instantly, the crowd lit up again.  There were no challengers for a few moments and amongst the cheers, many looked around to see who would step up and fight the boss.  There were no takers for a while until a man about 6'8" and about 200 lbs. stepped up, flinging his shirt to the side.  He was a street basketball player known simply as Abe.

            Abe was taller than Surge, but he was pretty skinny.  He had a longer reach than Surge, but his arms seemed like toothpicks.  They took to the fight immediately, Abe coming at Surge with a handful of jabs and hooks.

            Surge took the first shot right on the chin, falling back a step under the blow.  He was surprised at how much power was in such skinny little arms.  Clearly he had underestimated this one.

            When Abe attempted a kick to Surge's gut, he caught the oncoming foot and yanked the skinny guy to him, smashing his head in with a clothesline.  His bicep felt like a brick against his face, and Surge smiled inwardly.  During his time in the army, Surge was taught Commando Sambo hand-to-hand combat.  By the time he was discharged, he was dabbling in Le Drit military assassination techniques.  Occasionally, in the past, some people would complain that a formally trained fighter had an unfair advantage in fight club.

            They would get the shit kicked out of them ceremoniously.

            _Enough toying_, Surge thought to himself.  Surge wound up, and his left fist slammed into Abe's head, sending his skinny frame to the ground, hard.  He walked over and onto his prey, slamming his feet into his lower back over and over.  As he stood over what looked to be his fallen opponent, Abe struck again, grabbing at Surge's leg, punching him in the knee such that his kneecap became temporarily displaced.  Abe snatched the same leg up, causing Surge to fall to his back on the hard mats.  With his free foot, Surge kicked Abe right in the chest as Abe attempted some fancy leg twist on his downed opponent.

            Shaking off the pain in his knee, Surge hopped back to his feet.  He spear-tackled Abe, crashing into a wall in the process.  Abe could feel – and hear – his back cracking up against the merciless concrete wall, while at the same time, his gut being ground into hamburger meat as Surge pounded him repeatedly.  He threw about ten punches, all seemingly deeper and harder than the one before it.

            When he stepped back from the wall, Abe collapsed, gasping for breath.  The fight was over.

TIME:  Around 2:30 AM

LOCATION:  Vermilion Harbor

            The meeting ran into the twilight hours.  When the fights were all done, everyone just left, drifting from the gym and apart from each other.  Lt. Surge partook in numerous fights, showing everyone that he wasn't rusty, he wasn't out of shape, that he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

            Down at the Vermilion docks is where Surge and Raichu retreated for the evening, the master and his Pokémon sitting on the edge of an old, wooden dock, staring at the full moon over the sea.  While he was there, he carefully examined all the information, committing everything into memory.  With three years to prepare for the tournament, Surge could only imagine the fights he would have – not just in the tournament itself but also in his fight club.

            He sighed, reaching into his rolled-up sleeve and pulled out his pack of cigarettes.  He stuck one in his mouth and reached for his Zippo lighter, and with a flick, the flame came to life.  He lit the cigarette and inhaled, then blew the smoke out above his head, watching it fade into nothing.  What kind of opponents would he meet in this tournament?  He mentally thumbed through the gym leaders he knew of.

            Solomon Blaine, the Cinnabar Island gym leader.  He has to be pushing 60, at least.  How could that guy fight?  What style could he use?

            Koga, the leader of the Poison Fist ninja clan, and the Fuchsia City gym leader.  It seemed an unwritten law that all ninjas are inherently badass, and Koga was no exception to the rule.  Actually, knowing how deadly Koga is, it'd be better to refer to him as a badass motherfucker.  Yeah, that seemed about right.

            Erika, no...Sabrina, no...Misty, pfft, yeah right..."Blue Gary", hmmm...don't know about that kid.  Such weakling gym leaders.  Why do these little brats get gyms and control of badges just handed to them?  Brock...

            Ahh, Brock "The Rock" Ballas.  The Lieutenant saw the scene earlier today, when he left that runt Misty and her boyfriend Ash to study under master Bruno.  His thought went to Bruno.  Now there's a guy that can give me a challenge!  But what about...Ash?

            The same little boy that bested his Raichu with his Pikachu so long ago was now a Pokémon master, and apparently had received similar information on this tournament.  Not from a mocking point of view, but from a serious viewpoint – his entering the tournament would be career (if not, literal) suicide.  If he got to fight someone like Bruno, or Koga, or especially himself, he could end up dead.  Not only does he not know how to fight (supposedly), but his pride would never allow him to quit; Surge got to see that first hand.  Still, he saw him fight and win against impossible odds before, so knowing him, he had a trick up his sleeve.

            "T'ree years," Surge said, taking another drag off his cigarette.  "D'at much time can pass by you without you ever knowing it, huh Raichu?"

            "Rai," {I feel ya,} Raichu answered.

            Surge finished off his cigarette, flicking the butt into the water below.  He stood, and Raichu followed suit.  "We got a long road ahead of us, Raichu.  Tomorrow, everything's gonna change from now on."

            "Rai, chu," {Do what you must, then,} he called back.

            His Raichu lumbering slowly behind him, Surge headed back to his apartment for the evening, planning his new daily routine mentally for his preparation for the Lord of the Fight tournament. 

NAME:  1st Lieutenant Jason Surge, USMC

STYLE:  Commando Sambo and Le Drit

DOB:  29 February 1960

HEIGHT:  6'3"

WEIGHT:  244 lbs.

HOBBY:  Collecting military antiques

FAVORITE FOOD:  Veal

MOST IMPORTANT:  His gym

LIKES:  Spur-the-moment actions

DISLIKES:  Indecisiveness


	5. The Rival Sitrrs

POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE

Usual disclaimers apply.  These characters do not belong to me.

Oh, and for all you Garyholics out there who are wondering how I figured out his win/loss record between him and Ash, I'm using a combination of Pokémon Red/Blue/Yellow (where the main protagonist fights his rival a handful of times) and the anime.  Don't worry; like everything else in this fanfic, it'll make sense in some way.

TIME:  Between Chapters 2 and 4

LOCATION:  Study; Oak Laboratories, Pallet

            "Oh, Gary, stop being so difficult!"  
  


            "Who's being difficult?  I told you 'no' enough times already!"

            Still in the professor's study, Gary and Professor Oak were in a bit of an argument.  Not long after Ash made his decision to enter the tournament – handing Professor Oak the entrance fee, knowing he would take care of it for him – he, Brock and Misty left the plantation to go about the rest of their business for the day.  All the time as he watched the three leave, Ash was throwing punches and kicks this way and that as he walked the path from the Oak labs to the Ketchum house.  He couldn't help but smile to himself, as this young, new Pokémon master was once again getting ready to show his stuff to the world.

            He suggested to his nephew that he take up lessons under the same instructor Ash was heading back to.  But...that didn't go too well with the jaded Oak.

            "Why should I be in the same area code, let alone the same building as him?" he asked, harshly.  "He's my rival, not my ass buddy!  I'm not Brock, you know!"

            "Gary!" Oak snapped.  "Watch your mouth!"  He went back to his desk, and pulled out the chair, sitting down in it.  Gary flopped onto the sofa, his Umbreon walking up to him, nuzzling his face against his.  He rubbed the back of his head and scratched the backs of his ears, paying little attention to what his grandpa was saying.

            "I don't want to be bothered with him, gramps," Gary said as Umbreon laid his head on his lap.  "Besides, it's not like it takes much to kick _his _ass."

            "You're awfully confident about your abilities, Gary."

            "Aren't I always?"  He got up off the couch, Umbreon standing by his side.  "I'll beat Ash using my own methods.  I don't need to follow the same path as him to get to my destination faster."

            Professor Oak sighed.  "I was just offering because if you were to study under Genju like Ash is, I'd be happy to pay your entrance fee for you."

            "Feh...no thanks!"

            "Well then, what do you propose to do?"  Professor Oak folded his arms over his chest.  "You certainly won't last long if you go into this as you are.  You'll get your butt handed to you...and I'm not saying this because I'm trying to degrade you; I'm saying this for your own good!"

            Gary turned to walk out of the study, throwing the professor one more glance.  "Don't worry.  I'll be just fine."  Umbreon followed Gary out the door, up into his bedroom.  The Professor just looked at the door where Gary exited.

            "Umbreon?"  {What are you doing?}  Umbreon asked, her head cocked to the side.

            "We're going on another journey, Umbreon," Gary answered.  He plopped his backpack on his bed, and was rummaging through his closet.  "We're gonna find the best martial artist in Kanto and we're gonna train under him.  I know if I stick to this, I'll be tough enough to put that sorry loser and his friends in their place.  Just you wait and see!"

            "Eon..."  {Whatever...}

            Going through his closet, Gary quickly pulled out a number of outfits of clothing.  He laid them on the bed, intending to fold them after he got the rest of his stuffed squared away, and went to his drawers.  Amongst pulling out clean underwear and socks, he found several sets of old sweatpants, t-shirts that have seen better days, and a pair of old tennis shoes in his closet.  These would be his workout gear until he could afford to buy a gi from his would-be master-to-be.

            Gary took all of his good clothing off the hangers, and neatly folded the shirts, jeans, etc. one by one.  He placed them in his bag neatly, then more or less threw all his other stuff in there haphazardly.  He mentally went over what he had to pack – clothes, underwear, socks, training garb, toiletries...yep, that's everything – and shouldered his pack.  He snapped his Pokéballs to his belt, one empty space where the ball that should belong to Umbreon at the end.  With a final nod to the evolved form of his first Pokémon, they strolled out of his room and down to the main part of the house.

            "I'm going on a journey, grandpa," Gary said to Professor Oak.  "I'm off to train for the 'Lord of the Fight'."

            "Have you decided where you'll go?" he asked his grandson.

            "Don't worry about me.  I'll pull through.  Like I always do."

            And with that, he ushered Umbreon out, and shut the door behind him.

            In the massive garage of Oak Laboratories sits a handful of cars owned – and occasionally driven – by the Professor himself.  Among them was a royal blue Lexus, which was worth more than some of the houses in Pallet Town, and a silver Mercedes-Benz.  The garage was spotless, and everything was well maintained.

            Towards the far end of the garage was Gary's car.  He drove a bright red Camaro – well, didn't drive, but was chauffeured around in.  He clapped twice, signaling to the driver, and dumped his bag in the trunk.  Umbreon joined him in the back seat just as the chauffeur started the engine.

            "Where to?" the chauffeur asked.

            Gary thought about it for a little while.  He rubbed his chin, then came to a decision.  "Take me to Vermilion City," he ordered.

            "Right away, master Gary," he said, pulling out of the driveway.  Gary leaned back in the seat, his hands behind his head.  The top was down, so he had a perfect view of the valley where Pallet Town was nestled in.  Thoughts of his bitter rival ran through his head.  Of all the times he challenged him, Gary only won once – after he returned from the Orange Islands, his Nidoqueen bailed the Oak plantation out of a Team Rocket attack, and then beat his Pikachu in a battle.  But even on his Pokémon journey, he was always a step ahead of Ash.  He caught more Pokémon, and won all his badges quicker than he did.  Five times they fought on their journeys, and five times, Ash won.  To rub salt in the wound, he even did better than he did in the Indigo League.  Ash made it to the semifinals, while Gary was ousted in the first round.  He growled inwardly at his nemesis' success.  His Pokémon weren't as strong as Gary's, but somehow, Ash always had luck on his side.  Or something....  Lost in his thoughts, he started to talk to himself.

            "No matter what happens, no matter what I have to do, no matter what low I'll have to stoop...I will defeat you, Ash Ketchum.  I swear to it!  You may only lose one battle, but that loss will be given to you by one person and one person alone..." His eyes narrowed and his tone became harsher as he finished his proclamation.  "...me."

            "Umbre, umbreon,"  {You're the boss,}  Umbreon replied.

TIME:  Later that day

LOCATION:  Vermilion City outskirts

            "This'll be fine," Gary said.  "Pop the trunk."

            Just as the car pulled into the city limits of Vermilion, Gary ordered the car to pull over.  The afternoon sun and the tall buildings of the city greeted him like they do everyone else – emotionless, cold, stoic...to the city, Gary was just another boy with a dream.

              The trunk door opening up, Gary and Umbreon got out of the car, and Gary hefted his bag out of the trunk.  As he slammed the lid closed, the driver, as instructed, pulled away, and Gary watched as the car sped off back to Pallet Town.

            "Well, here it goes, Umbreon," Gary said to the evolved Eevee.

            "Umbre!"  {Right on!}  Umbreon called.

            For about an hour or two, Gary and Umbreon patrolled the streets of Vermilion City, pausing every now and then at a red light or for whatever reason.  The people were all the same, just like in any city – ants scurrying about, taking care of their business, whatever.  He stopped in the park for a while to play with Umbreon for a bit.  Across the other side of the lake that ran midway through the park, two young kids were engaging in a Pokémon battle.  One kid's Charmander up against a Kadabra belonging to a 13-year-old girl who, through extensive makeup, high-priced clothes and her obsession with girly pop singers, tried (and was failing) to look as old as 18.  The Charmander tore into the Kadabra with a Slash attack, but not without paying for it in the form of a Psybeam from the psychic Pokémon.

            With a sigh, Gary rose from the bench he was sitting on, and whistled to Umbreon.  The Pokémon was quickly on his heels as he walked out of the park, and back into the city streets.  As he walked down one busy street, the Pokémon Center came into view, and he saw another young man rush into the center with his Cyndaquil in his hands.  He just challenged Lt. Surge to a Pokémon battle for a Thunder Badge, and had been beaten.  Apparently, badly.

            As he looked at the gym itself, memories returned to him.  Memories of how his Pokémon beat Lt. Surge's fat Raichu and walked out with a Thunder Badge with little effort.  The mistake Surge made was that he evolved his Pikachu – via a Thunderstone – as soon as he got it, and as a result, the Raichu was a slow moving being.  A speedy Pokémon like his then-Eevee had no trouble overcoming it.

            Gary continued on, and saw a building with various Korean symbols on the billboard, as well as the phrase TAE KWAN DO in big, black letters on it.

            The wheels in his head turned.  Tae Kwan Do...yeah, that's perfect!  "All the techniques in the world won't have a chance up against my Tae Kwan Do!" Gary said, strutting up to the door.  "I'm gonna sign up right now!"

            When Gary went in, he saw a class already going on.  About 20 or 25 students were practicing moves their instructor was banging out.  Gary sat down on one of the chairs in the part of the dojo where practicing wasn't taking place.  Every move, every instruction, Gary was mentally writing down.  He was just as eager to learn as he was to leave on his Pokémon journey.

            Both would ultimately have the same goal – to defeat and humiliated Ash Ketchum.

            Once class was dismissed, Gary stood up, and waited for the other students to leave.  All that was left was the instructor, who saw this unknown boy and his Umbreon standing there.  The instructor was in his mid 50s, and sported a long braid of black hair going down the back of his head, just below his shoulders.  He approached the two.

            "Can I help you?" the sensei said.

            "Yes, you can," Gary said bluntly.  "I'm Gary Oak, of Pallet Town, the grandson of Professor Samuel Oak.  I would like you to teach me your style."

            "Is that so?" the master, known as Hong Lin, stated.  "You say you're from Pallet Town?"  
  


            "Am I ever?  I'm the best trainer to ever come out – "

            "You must know Ash Ketchum, don't you?"  At the mention of that name, Gary's face sunk into a disgusted glare.  "My nephew is a great fan of his!  Could you get me his autograph?"

            He didn't want to go off on this man, telling him about how much he despises Ash, how he thirsts for revenge on him day in and day out.  Instead, he quickly covered up.  "Maybe later.  So, do we have a deal?"  His hand found his wallet.  "I've got plenty of money, if that's what you're worried about."

            "Ahh, so you would like to take private lessons, then, is that right?"

            "That would be alright.  I'm willing to learn, no matter if I'm with a class like what you teach or one-on-one training.  It doesn't make a real difference."

            "So be it, then."  Lin led Gary into a small room on the other side of the dojo, where his office was.  Aside from the desk, several chairs, and bookshelves filled with assorted awards and Korean artifacts, numerous martial arts awards and trophies hung on the walls telling of his past accomplishments.

            "You're pretty good at this, I take it..."

            "Yes, well...it is what I enjoy the most.  Now then Gary, just fill these forms out here, please..."

            Gary's pen raced over the application form at light speed, as he filled out the information necessary to join this school.  All the time, his thoughts were focused on defeating Ash Ketchum, Pokémon master. 

NAME:  Gary Oak

STYLE:  Tae Kwan Do

DOB:  2 June 1987

HEIGHT:  5'3"

WEIGHT:  124 lbs.

HOBBY:  Training Pokémon

FAVORITE FOOD:  Eurasian cuisine

MOST IMPORTANT:  Himself, his accomplishments

LIKES:  Winning

DISLIKES:  Losing, especially to Ash


	6. Shadow of the Ninja

POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE

Sorry for the long delay, everyone.  I've been pretty bogged down with lots of computer trouble.  Don't worry; I haven't forgotten about this fic.

Usual disclaimers apply.  These characters do not belong to me.

TIME:  Simultaneously with Chapter 1, only a bit earlier

LOCATION:  Dokuwomoru dojo, Fuchsia City

            It was early in the morning.  Perhaps a little too early...

            The morning sun was just now breaking over the horizon as the ninja master and two of his most trusted pupils trained diligently.  They trained hard – running, sparring, practicing techniques and katas that they have gone over numerous times in the past, as well as starting newer, more difficult ones.

            The master ran this dojo and the Pokémon gym in Fuchsia City as one in the same.  Koga would often get challengers not only for the Soul Badge, but to challenge the legendary master to a fight.  He was not a violent man by nature, but when his fighting spirit was ignited and the rush of battle gripped him, there was little he could do except ride it out and let his fists and feet speak for him.  Often times – though it is almost never his intention – a few opponents have died at the hands of Dokuwomoru Ninjitsu...death by the poisoned fists.

            How fitting he devises his style after the same type of Pokémon he is notorious for.

            Koga was now in meditation, facing the rising sun, dressed in his usual ninja attire like always.  Beside him, a few yards away, was his sister, doing the same.  While she was also a ninja (though not on the caliber of Koga), Aya opted for an obviously more feminine, _pink _attire.  Though her older brother disagreed with it, he would not let such a petty issue as attire take precedence over other important matters.  It just wasn't worth it.

            _"Huff...puff...cough..."_

            Speaking of petty arguments...

            While his younger sister was accustomed to – and accepted – her training, there was a young girl whom did not.  Janine, Koga's daughter, was much less appreciative of the Dokuwomoru style than her father and aunt were, and this upset Koga.  It was hard enough that Koga's wife, Yuki, was killed by members of Team Rocket, leaving him an emotional mess and a young two-year-old daughter who'll never know her mother, but at the fresh age of fifteen was becoming wild, rambunctious, and at times, out of control...especially with all the "outside" influences such as mass media, school, and her peers.  

            To be more specific, she didn't mind her training; Janine was more than glad to call herself a ninja.  It's these harsh training regiments that her father and aunt instill that bother her.  She's all for midday classes, where she has the chance to beat on some of the students – especially the males who made it clear how attracted they were to her.

            "The princess announces herself," Aya remarked to her older brother.

            Koga remained in his fixed position as he heard his daughter approach.  "So, you've decided to join us after all?" he asked.

            "This...is...ridiculous," Janine managed to get out between deep breaths.  "Don't you...people...ever sleep?"

            "It is all vital to your training, daughter," Koga said bluntly.  He could tell by the position of the sun that it was about 7:30 AM.  "Let us attend to breakfast."  It was then that he, Aya and Janine went back into the house.

            It was a light breakfast at that, and by 8:15, they were back out training.  Though this time, they would be training their Pokémon, having them battle one another.

            "Beedrill, go!"  Janine cried, releasing the giant stinging Pokémon.  "Give it your Twin Needle attack!"

            The Beedrill buzzed loudly, and flew like a bullet at her father's Ariados.

            "Ariados, Poison Sting attack!"

            In a flash, Ariados snapped around, and fired dozens of white spines at the Beedrill.  The bee dodged to both sides to avoid the attack, then gored the giant spider.  It flipped around in midair, but landed on all eight legs, ready for more.

            "Now...Pin Missile attack!"

            "Ariados...counter with your Spider Web!"

            Before Beedrill could fire its needles, Ariados opened its mouth.  A fine, white mist spewed out of its mouth, and before long – before its attack could commence, too – Beedrill was caught in a large, immobilizing web.  It struggled against its bonds, but it did not move.

            "Oh no..." Janine murmured to herself.  She drew the Pokéball for Beedrill.  "Beedrill, return!" she shouted.  The narrow beam of light hit the bee, but it was unable to draw it back into the ball.  "What?"

            Koga shook his head, waving his finger back and forth, much to his daughter's chagrin.  "You should know that a Spider Web is often so strong that there is no escape for a Pokémon – not even calling for a return can free it."  Janine's face fell in shock, while Koga ordered a final attack.  "Now Ariados...Giga Drain attack!"  Deep green energy radiated from the giant spider, aimed at the immobilized bee.  It not only robbed Beedrill of its energy, but the Spider Web dissolved into nothing as Beedrill collapsed.

            Disgusted, Janine held up Beedrill's Pokéball.  "Beedrill, return!"  The bee disappeared back into the ball.

            As the training between father and daughter went on, on the other side of the back yard, by the back door, Aya was taking care of her favorite Pokémon – her Venonat.

            "They're brutal, aren't they?" she said, pulling a brush through the gnat's fur.

            "Venonat, venonat," {Seems a bit calmer this morning,} he said, leaning against his master.

            Poison-type Pokémon have been a staple of Koga's family ever since Koga started training in the martial arts.  His first two Pokémon were a Venonat and later on, a Zubat.  Through a lifetime of training in his family's form of ninjitsu and handling Pokémon, he's become a very well respected force in the Pokémon world.  The League granted him control of the Pokémon Gym in his native Fuchsia City not long before he was married.  He held that position until two years ago, when he competed in the World Pokémon League Indigo championship.  The champion, the dragon master Lance was not defeated, but Koga's performance – along with the unfortunate passing of Agatha – earned him a spot in the Elite Four.  He was in the same rank as the Judo king Bruno Santangelo, the masked psychic Will Sable, and Karen Prima.  Karen is a cousin of Lorelei Prima, and while Karen is a good trainer in her own right, he – and Bruno agreed with him on this – suspected nepotism played a key part in Karen's current placement.

            Aya had trained, but not as long as her brother in their art.  In fact, she left home when she was about 20, and hadn't seen her brother for about 15 years.  A Team Rocket raid in her then-residence in Ecruteak City resulted in dozens of Pokémon stolen and the house where she was living in destroyed, along with others.  She was ashamed at first to turn to her brother for help, but he insisted, and he had been staying there ever since.

            The wind began to pick up.  So did the noises coming from Koga's training session with his daughter.  She put the brush down and looked over in the direction of her brother and niece.

            "Venomoth, Poison Powder attack!"

            The giant moth Pokémon flapped its wings at a violently fast pace, so fast they were like a blur.  At the same time, it gave off a large, thick, brownish-gray cloud of poison dust, aimed at his daughter's Muk.  While it had a moderate effect on the target, it had a much worse, unforeseen effect.

            The wind had picked up as Koga ordered the attack, and the resulting breeze sent the poison dust at his unsuspecting daughter as well.  She gasped, coughed and choked as the dust overwhelmed her, and Koga's eyes went wide as he saw her collapse.

            "Venomoth, that's enough!" Koga barked, recalling the Pokémon.  Quickly, he sprinted over to his now fallen daughter, a slight breeze picking up and carrying off some of the dust.  With his mouth buried in the pit of his elbow, he kneeled beside Janine, seeing her just barely hanging on to consciousness.  He picked her up in his arms, then hurried her into the house.

            "Is everything alright?" Aya asked, following on Koga's heels quickly.

            "It looks like she inhaled a lot of poison dust Venomoth gave off," Koga said.  He entered Janine's room, and as Aya pulled back the blankets, Koga laid her in bed.  "She needs to rest for now.  Go get some antidote, quickly."

            Aya ran from the room, and tore through a cupboard looking for the required antidote.  While they occasionally used the store-brought antidotes used by many a trainer on their poisoned Pokémon, the Dokuwomoru put most of their faith in holistic medicines.  Rummaging around, she found a vial the size of a Snapple bottle, containing a deep green liquid, which had the consistency of teriyaki sauce.  This was a pretty potent batch, she could tell from its aroma.  Aya prepared this batch herself from several choice roots, and as far as she was concerned, she was very good at preparing such remedies.

            Reentering Janine's room, she found Koga sitting on the stool that went to her desk, staring at her with a concern Aya has hardly seen before.  Janine was in her bed with the covers drawn up around her, the color in her face drained and a dull, blank look in her eyes.  The sight threw her off for a moment, but she quickly got back on track.

            "Here it is," Aya said, handing the bottle to Koga.  "How is she doing?"

            "It's slightly worse than I thought," he said, not taking his eyes off of his daughter.  He unscrewed the cap, and after some coaxing to open her mouth, he offered her the antidote.  She surprised him by bringing herself to her elbows, and taking the medicine on her own accord.  Koga took it back from her after she had taken enough, and slowly, it started to work.  Her breathing became less ragged, and very slowly the color returned to her skin.  She looked at her father and aunt, a glassy look still lingering in her eyes.

            "What...what happened?" she asked, groggy.

            "You inhaled a lot of Venomoth's poison dust," Aya said.  "We managed to get you treatment just in time."

            "You'll be alright now as long as you rest," Koga added.  He sat close to his daughter's side, which made her smile slightly.  "Rest, now."

            As Aya viewed the scene, she heard another voice.  It was coming from the main room of the gym, and from the tone and pitch of the voice, it was a young...boy?  Girl?  Whoever it was, they were young.  Perhaps a local kid just starting out on their Pokémon journey...

            Aya turned around.  "Someone's here looking for the Soul Badge," Aya said quietly.

            Instinctively remembering her role as the _official _Fuchsia City Gym Leader, Janine sat up in bed, threw the blankets back, and went to stand up.  "I must...face them..." she said, weakly.  Apparently, the poison was still lingering in her body.

            Koga pushed on her shoulders, trying to get her to lie back down.  "No, Janine.  You need to rest!"  
  


            "But...it's my job!  I..."  That was all she could get out.  She groaned, then lurched forward, right into Koga's anticipating arms.  She made another sickly sound, and Koga picked up on the look in her eyes.

            "Oh, great."  He wrapped his arms around her waist, while she instinctively held onto him.  He went out in the hallway, pushed opened the bathroom door, and held Janine in place as she vomited into the toilet.

            "Perhaps I should take care of this little guy," Aya said, glancing into the bathroom.  He saw Koga rubbing his daughter's back, nausea tearing through her.

            The door connecting the main room to the living area of the gym opened, and Aya walked out, eyeing up the competition.  It was a boy, about 12 or 13 years old, with greasy black hair, a dark tan – Aya sniffed the air, and judging by the aerosol lingering in the air, deduced that the tan was the result of too much Hollywood Hogan's Spray-on Tan – gray slacks and a silk, midnight blue shirt.  He had a cocky smirk, several cheap gold hoop earrings in both ears, and a larger than average nose.

            "Humph," Aya said.  "Can I help you?"

            "The name's Troy, and I'm here to challenge the Fuchsia City gym leader!" the challenger declared.

            "Oh really?"  She scoffed at this young punk.  "And just what do you hope to win challenging Janine?  The badge, or her heart?"  
  


            "Both, if possible.  And after I'm done with her, I just may give you a whirl, too."  He winked and smirked at Aya.

            "Believe me, kid, you got as much a shot with her as you do with me."  Aya raised an eyebrow at the kid.  "And what would her father say if he heard your plans for his only daughter?"

            "Ha!  I'm not scared of that old coot!"

            There was a sudden gust of air behind him, and a long shadow fell next to Troy's.  He felt a sudden dread creep up over him.  Koga glared at this kid as blue lines of mortification fell upon him, going halfway down his face.  "You were saying?" Koga asked coldly.

            "N-n-n-nothing!" Troy gasped out.  He slowly turned around to look at Koga, only to find he wasn't there.  He snapped around, and Koga was standing off to the side, somewhere in between the challenger and Aya.

            "So I understand you wish to challenge for the Soul Badge," Koga said.

            "Yeah, that's right."  He put a hand through his hair.  "Where's the gym leader?"

            "The gym leader has taken ill; you'll have to come back another day."  Koga turned around, heading for the nearest door.  He would've left if it weren't for an arrogant, cocky young challenger.

            "No way!  That's not fair!  I come all the way out here for a gym battle and the only thing you have to say is 'come back another day'?"  He stomped his foot.  "That sucks!"  Koga looked over his shoulder at him.  "You used to be the leader here; why can't I fight you?"

            "Koga is a member of the Elite Four, whom has come home to visit his home, thank you very much," Aya said, before Koga could answer.  "Considering his skill level, you wouldn't make for a warm-up."

            "Well that's all fine and dandy, but I'm not leaving this gym until _someone _gives me a gym battle!"  He folded his arms, turned his head away – showing off his profile, enhanced by his enormous nose – and gave them a sassy look.  Koga and Aya looked at each other for a few moments.  It wouldn't make any sense for Koga to battle him; that much Aya said was true.  But it wasn't fair to drag a sick Janine out here to put this little punk in his place.  Aya glanced at the kid again, then back at Koga.  This wouldn't be long.

            "Alright," Aya said, "if you want to battle for the Soul Badge, I will accept your challenge."

            "I knew you'd see it my way," Troy said, reaching for a Pokéball.

            "You will use two Pokémon each," Koga said.  "No time limit.  Begin whenever you are ready."

            "Fine.  I choose you, Quilava!"  Troy threw the ball, and out popped the large fire anteater Pokémon.  The flames on his back flared up as it got ready for battle.

            "So be it.  I choose you, Butterfree!"  Her giant butterfly Pokémon appeared, flapping its wings and squeaking all the while.  "Go...hit it with your confuse ray!"  Before the opponent could give an order, Butterfree's antennae glowed, and a bright white current of light danced off of them, into the Quilava.  Its effect was instantaneous, and Quilava was confused.

            "Shake it off, Quilava; come on!"  Troy shouted.  His inexperience showed in his panicky reaction and the way his head moved back and forth rapidly.  "Now give it an Ember attack!"

            Quilava arched his head straight up, a ball of flame growing at its mouth.  Instead of aiming it at the enemy, it aimed it straight up in the air.  The ball nearly touched the ceiling before crashing back down on the Quilava.  It was burned by its own attack.

            "No!" Troy shouted.

            "Now, Butterfree...use a Tackle attack!"  The butterfly hummed as it flew full speed at the Quilava, slamming its head into its enemy.  The blow was so hard that it flew against the wall of the dojo, bouncing off it, and getting knocked out in the process.

            "Round one to Aya," Koga said in a monotone.

            "Dammit...Quilava, return!"  He recalled the Pokémon and readied his other choice.  "I won't get beaten this time!  Go, Abra!"  This time, it was the small, infantile version of the most powerful Psychic-type Pokémon available.  "Those Poison-types don't have a prayer!"

            "Hmmm..." Aya said.  She rubbed her chin with her left hand and had her other on her hip.  "So you know your type alignments, I see.  But you do know that a Butterfree is a Bug- and _Flying-_type Pokémon, right?  Its counterpart, Beedrill is the Bug/Poison type, kid."

            "No matter.  This is all I'll need to win now!  Go, try a Confusion attack!"

            "Counter it with one of your own, Butterfree!"  The two Pokémon were charging up their attacks almost simultaneously, and they clashed in the center of the gym.  It didn't take long for Butterfree to push back the oncoming attack with its own.

            "Abra, Teleport outta the way!"  It did so, and the attack missed Abra wide.  "Now, give it a Tri-Attack!"  Abra floated up off the ground a few inches, then let loose with three energy triangles, each with a trail of fire, ice and lightning behind it.

            "Quick Butterfree, try a Wing Attack!"  Butterfree took flight, and flew at high speed at Abra.  It dodged the fire attack, as well as the ice, but it was hit by the electricity and sent spiraling out of control.  It regained its balance and stared at its foe.

            "Great," Troy said.  "Now let's do it again!"  Again it charged up, but Aya ordered the same attack as well, and unlike last time, Aya's Pokémon won out.  Its wing tore through the Abra, sending it back down with a squawk.

            "Serves you right for trying the same attack twice in a row," Aya said.  "Now, give it your Sleep Powder and Stun Spore, Butterfree!"  Butterfree flapped its wings rapidly, and a gray and blue cloud of dust blanketed the area.  Abra was too overwhelmed, and it wailed, froze, then collapsed.  The fight was over.

            "Aya wins," Koga said, bringing his hand down from his mouth.  "No badge will be awarded."

            "What?!" Troy shouted.  He stammered over his words in frustration, and finally recalled his Pokémon and stormed out of the dojo.  He nearly walked over the mailman in the process.

            Retrieving the mail and apologizing to the carrier, Koga took the mail and went back inside.  He thumbed through it idly...bills, junk ads, a few magazines his daughter subscribes to, a bank notice, hmm, what's this?  Seeing the World Pokémon League header on the last envelope, he set the rest of the mail aside and opened the letter.  He expected it to be some formal summons to the Indigo Plateau headquarters – but why mail him?  Don't they use email?  Even _Koga _uses email – but it was something else.  Sure, it was from the same people, but it was an announcement.  About a tournament.  A martial arts tournament called "Lord of the Fight".  Koga's eyes lit up and he smiled slightly as he went over the information.  This opportunity can't be passed up!  
  


            "So what's in the mail?" Aya asked, approaching him from the side.

            "Come into the kitchen, and get Janine," Koga said, smiling and holding the information between two fingers.  "We have an important matter to discuss.…"__

NAME:  Koga

STYLE:  Dokuwomoru Ninjitsu

DOB:  22 August 1957

HEIGHT:  6'1"

WEIGHT:  170 lbs.

HOBBY:  Meditating

FAVORITE FOOD:  Kim-chi

MOST IMPORTANT:  His sister and daughter

LIKES:  Holistic medicine, poison-type Pokémon

DISLIKES:  Bright colors, bright light


	7. No Other Options

POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE

Once again, computer trouble is pretty prominent with me, so bear with me.  Trust me, I love writing this (and writing in general) too much to just discard it.

Usual disclaimers apply.  These characters do not belong to me.

TIME:  Sometime in the future, before the start of the tournament

LOCATION:  Team Rocket Headquarters, Viridian City

            High above the bustling metropolis that is Viridian City, atop the highest story of the Montgomery Building, the tallest building in all of Kanto, lay the central nervous system of the notorious Team Rocket.  Within the plush office – which dominates most of the 85th floor – is the one man who has been the leader of Team Rocket for the past 20 years.  He was once thought to have not only been killed, but have his operations of Team Rocket ceased and the organization disbanded.  This was only a façade, as the Rockets moved back into the underground from which they started.  For the past three years they have been lying in wait for an opportunity to return as the most feared name in the entire world.  While they have advocated stealing Pokémon to further their purposes, they are not ones to refrain from things such as armed robbery, murder, terrorism, and the like.  No matter.  As long as Team Rocket controls the world when it's all said and done, that is all he cares about.

            He is Salvatore Arturo Giovanni.

            It is high noon in Viridian, and Giovanni is sitting in his large, plush, executive chair, facing the huge window that allows him to look over the entire city.  In one hand is a brandy snifter, half-full of its namesake liquor.  The other is gently scratching the side of his Persian's neck.  He is dressed in his favorite amber double-breasted Armani suit, an article of clothing that has been subject to ridicule (behind his back, of course; had he found out people has been busting his suit, they're more or less screwed).  As he takes a sip of brandy, he starts to contemplate the future of the world under the control of his beloved Team Rocket.

            That thought in mind, he turned around, and pressed a button on his intercom.  "Has the literature been sent out?" he asked the secretary outside his office.

            "Yes sir," the woman replied.  "We have reason to believe it has been received by all the major trainers in Kanto and Jhoto, including resident Pokémon masters and the Gym leaders."

            "Excellent.  Make sure everything goes according to plan."  He released the button, and finished off his brandy.  Flipping through a few pages in his day planner, Giovanni came across the noon timeslot for today.  _Ah, yes, I have that luncheon to attend, _he thought.  Buttoning up all the buttons on his suit jacket and straightening it out, he pushed in his chair and walked to the door.

            He didn't get far, as he was cut off by the buzzing of his intercom.

            Grumbling inward, he sulked over to his desk.  "This had better be good," he said in a hard tone.  The voice on the other end was that of a security guard.

            "We have an intruder, sir!" he shouted.  "Someone's attempting to force their way into the building!  Ground level!"

            Giovanni rolled his eyes.  "Well what are you telling **me **for?  Take care of it!"

TIME:  Simultaneously

LOCATION:  Ground floor, main lobby

            "Hey, you can't come in here!  Stop – aaagh!"

            The low-level security officer was greeted with a kick right to the chops from the intruder.  As he buried his boot into the small of the down guard's back, he looked around and saw other Rocket executives running for cover, screams and a hail of documents in their wake.

            He was carrying a 9mm and a handful of backup ammo on his belt, along with three Pokéballs.  By his side was a tan-furred cat Pokémon with a gold coin charm in the middle of his forehead.  They were more afraid of the maniac with the gun than just who the maniac was.

            Petty thief?  No.  Disgruntled former employee?  Yeah, that sounds about right.

            James von Malice marched toward the elevator, Meowth trailing closely behind him.  James' mind was set on one thing and one thing alone – exterminating Giovanni and getting back his partner, Jessie.  Three years ago, with the decline of Team Rocket came the decline of his and Jessica Wesley's status in the group.  Their failures and their inability to stop "the twerp" from tearing through Team Rocket and many of its members sent to jail ruined their once spotless reputation.  But that wasn't all.  Jessie and James were now subjected to piss poor treatment from the higher-ups, and it showed in the lousy assignments and the way they were ostracized in front of the others.  It all cumulated in a violent dressing down of Giovanni – right to his face – by Jessie and James, and their subsequent resignation from Team Rocket.  But they didn't get too far.  Days after their "treason", a bounty was placed on both of their heads.  In a long fought struggle, Jessie was abducted, and James and Meowth were left badly beaten and with no Jessie.

            Now they were back and determined to find their partner.

            James wasn't wearing his Team Rocket uniform; in fact, he hasn't worn it since his resignation.  He was dressed in black shoes, slacks, and a blue silk shirt, the same shade as his hair.  A platinum ring with a Celtic cross adorned his left middle finger, and a gold magnetic bracelet was around his right wrist.  He holstered his gun, out of fear that his fists would tense so much he may shoot someone or something not meant to be shot.

            The elevator had card key locks on it, meaning that unauthorized personnel weren't allowed to access certain parts of the building.  Hoping it would still work, James pulled out his wallet and swiped his key card.  The indicator light glowed red and buzzed loudly.

            "Damn it all!" James shouted, throwing the useless key card to the side.  "My key doesn't work; Meowth, see what you can do with it."

            "No problem," Meowth said, going to work.  Using a screwdriver bit off his Swiss Army knife, he unscrewed the security panel, exposing the insides.  He was about ready to hook up a small device that would allow him to override the access code and allow them to use the elevator, but the sound of gunfire stopped him.

            "Look out!" James shouted, hitting the ground.  He was using the reception desk for cover, cringing as bullets struck the large barrier.  Drawing his gun, James pressed the barrel right between his eyes, exhaled deeply, and sprung up.

            Normally, a lone 9mm doesn't have much of a chance against security guards armed with machine pistols.  But while the grunts were lousy shots, James was a crack marksman.

            James popped into view and fired three shots, each striking a guard in at least the neck up.  Two got it in the neck, while the third was right in the middle of his forehead.  All three were dead before they hit the ground.

            "You holding out alright, Jimmy?" Meowth asked, seeing his partner quickly snap down back behind the desk.

            "Don't worry about me," he said.  "What's the story with the door?"

            Meowth held out the damaged equipment, most of its components split apart from the ricocheting bullets.  "We can't open it the easy way," he said, throwing the useless scraps of metal and plastic aside.  "We'll just have to force our way in!"  He ran at the security device again, and with a loud yell, slashed at it with his sharp claws.  It exploded as Meowth landed, and James assisted in pushing the door open.  He returned a few more shots, resulting in another downed security officer.  As the doors closed, James and Meowth hid against the sidewalls the best they could, avoiding as much gunfire as they can.

            "Phew...that was close," Meowth huffed.  One look around the mirrored back wall of the elevator showed the places where bullets struck the mirror, resulting in large cracks throughout the surface.

            "These elevators don't go all the way up to the top floor," James explained.  "We'll probably have to get out around the 50th floor or so and find another route."  He exhaled deeply, catching his breath.

            Suddenly, the elevator stopped.

            "What's going on?" James said in a panic.  Meowth leapt up on the back of James' head, clamping his paws around his mouth.

            "Be quiet!" he said in a loud whisper.  "It may be more guards!"

            Just as he said that, a handful of grunts stormed out to the elevator drop-off points on the 29th floor.  Waiting for the up arrow to light up on one of the four doors, they all emptied their clips on the elevator door.  They were riddled with holes, and as the doors opened, they stormed inside, only to find...

            No one.

            "What?!" one of them shouted.

            "Where'd they go?"

            "They had to have been in here!"

            "They didn't send up a decoy, did they?"

            The seven grunts stood around the now-disabled elevator car, scratching their heads.  It was impossible to think that they were wrong.  Besides, it's not like they would've been able to survive such a hellish attack...right?

            What they didn't know is that James and Meowth had escaped.  They climbed up through the top of the car and were looking down on the unsuspecting thugs.  James watched them for a moment before motioning to Weezing, whom James had withdrew just as the gunfire rained in.  Also, James screwed a silencer onto the end of his gun, readying the next part of his assault.

            "Alright, Weezing," James said quietly, "Use your Smog attack on those goons!"

            "Weezing!" {Copy that!} Weezing groaned.  Its mouths opened wide, and a thick discharge of black smoke poured into the car, and onto the grunts.  They hacked and coughed, unable to breathe, and one of them collapsed as a result.  Taking the opening, James took aim, and emptied the rest of his clip into the car, taking down four more guards.

            "What's going on?!" one of the remaining guards shouted.  That's when James attacked.

            After the smoke cleared, James dropped in feet first into the car and slammed his feet into the guard before landing. The guard stumbled back to his feet, and was met with a knee to the gut, followed by an uppercut from James.  He took a swing at the supposed traitor, while James ducked out of the way, and kicked him in the stomach, then stomped on his instep, and drove his elbow into the back of his head, flooring him.  The other remaining guard ran up behind James, and clubbed him in the back with the butt of his gun.  He then ran at the compromised James, but his would-be victim fell to a knee, grabbed his leg, and dropped him to the ground in a fireman's carry.  The gun dropped from his hand, sliding across the highly polished floor.  The grunt attacked again, but James calmly blocked the blow, and fired several hard jabs at his chin.  A left hook sent him reeling, which is when James bolted forward, and speared the goon so hard that he went flying through a plate glass window, plummeting to the street below, to his death.

            James nearly lost his balance as he watched the grunt fall, but Meowth grabbed him and pulled him back in.  After recalling Weezing, James paused to discard the empty magazine in his gun, and load another one. As he walked down the hallway, he picked up the discarded machine gun, and holstered his 9mm.

            "They'll have the elevators closely guarded," James said flatly.  "We better stick to the stairs as much as possible."

            "Are you kidding?" Meowth argued.  "We're gonna walk up 60-some flights-a-stairs?"

            "Well chances are, if we try using the elevators again, they're gonna be waiting for us!  We can't afford to take any chances, Meowth.  It's much too risky!"

            "Speaking of risks...look out!"  More of the cookie-cutter-like guards flooded the hallway, and James acted fast.  He snatched a Pokéball off his belt, and called out Victreebel.  Thankfully, it didn't snack on his head, as usual.

"Victreebel," James shouted, "use your Reflect attack!"

The giant plant tube Pokémon screeched, and an orange shield of light materialized in front of them.  The bullets reflected off the barrier, not harming James or his Pokémon.  A grunt lobbed a grenade over the energy shield, unknown to James.  Meowth acted more quickly, and threw the grenade back at the attackers.

After that melee subsided, James recalled Victreebel, and quickly turned down the nearest hallway, returning fire with the machine gun he earlier picked up.  After it was out of ammo and he was out of firing range, he tossed the useless gun aside, and ran into said stairwell.  It was an emergency stairway, used whenever there was a fire emergency, or in this case, when the elevators were unreliable.

            Taking a long look up the spiraling stairs, James and Meowth started to run up the stairs.  Meowth was having trouble keeping up with his taller, faster, longer-legged accomplice, so after getting him to stop, Meowth hitched a ride on James' shoulder for the next 30 or 40 floors.  By the time he hit the 70th floor, he heard shouts coming from above.  Yet again, more grunts were dispatched to take care of von Malice.

            The two hid under the higher flights of stairs from the gunfire, James poking out to take shots at the attackers.  Four shots came from James, and four guards went down.  Another shot grazed one's ear, and he fell from his perch with a loud yell.  He slammed headfirst on the concrete stairs not far away from James and Meowth.

            James shuddered.

            Opening up the door of the 70th floor stairwell, Meowth informed James that the coast was clear.  He and Meowth stepped out of the stairwell, finding a floor of office buildings like the ones on other floors of the building.  It was quiet.  Too quiet.

            "Look over there," Meowth whispered.  There, about to use his key card on an elevator was a long-haired young man in a suit.  Quietly, James snuck up on him, yanked his hair hard and slammed his elbow into the back of his head simultaneously.  James and Meowth moved his unconscious body out of the way just as the elevator doors opened.

            "Looks like this guy's going straight to the top – literally," Meowth said.  Each employee is issued key cards in proportion to how much seniority they have, and how important they are.  Higher ranked employees are allowed access to the higher floors of the Montgomery building.  The key card he had gave him access to the personal floor of Giovanni.  And now, James had that same access.

            Surely, security had informed Giovanni of the approaching intruder.  At least, they should have, considering the ride up to the top floor was uneventful.  The secretary at the large desk outside Giovanni's office offered no resistance as James strode past, and kicked down the doors to the office.

            Giovanni snapped around and got a good look at the angry James and Meowth standing at the entrance to his office.  He was surprised for a moment, but his shocked expression soon turned into a wicked smirk...one that made James' blood turn.

            "Well, well, well..." Giovanni said in a low voice.  "Look who it is."  James and Meowth squinted as Giovanni snickered to himself.  His Persian growled beside him, focusing on Meowth.  "I was beginning to think you would never get here."

            "Where's Jessie?" James demanded in a calm voice, his fingers curling, itching to draw his gun.

            "Either you're good, or my security isn't all it's cracked up to be," he said, ignoring the question.  "Both are equally unbelievable, don't you agree, James?"

            "Answer the question!" James said in a louder tone.  "Where is Jessie?"

            "Oh, come now, who do you think you are to just barge in here and demand things from _me_?"

            His patience destroyed, James drew his gun and aimed it at his former boss.  "_Answer me!_" he shouted, his throat sore.

            For a few moments, Giovanni remained still, not even blinking.  James' finger slowly pulled on the trigger until it was just a millimeter away from firing.  That's when he heard another click come from behind him.  Someone had snuck up behind James and aimed a gun at the back of his head.  And judging by the tone of voice, he knew exactly who it was.

            "Drop the gun, or I'll show you some real malice."  The voice was that of Butch Salem, another Team Rocket special agent and James' most hated enemy.

            Realizing he was beat, and mentally cursing himself for slacking off, the gun tumbled out of James' hand onto the floor.  He slowly put his hands up, not breaking eye contact with Giovanni, his face never changing its expression.

            "Get your ass over here," Giovanni demanded.  Butch kicked James in the back, making him lurch forward, now a yard away from Giovanni.

            "What's the matter?  So afraid to take me on yourself that you had to have Botch over there gets me from behind?  I always thought you were the one who gets it from behind from him."

            Angered, Butch fired at the ground by James' foot, causing him to flinch.  "Your only warning shot," Butch declared.

            "No shit."  He looked back at Giovanni.  "Where's Jessie?  I'm not going to ask you again!"

            "She's right here," Giovanni answered, in a jovial tone.  He motioned to a wall, and as the hidden door slid open, Jessie entered.  Or rather, dragged out.

            Jessie was clad in her old Team Rocket uniform, which was now a bit dirty.  Butch's partner, Cassidy O'Brien had her arm around Jessie's neck and a gun in her free hand.  She practically threw Jessie forward, and she hit the floor on all fours.

            "Jessie!" James shouted.  He was about to run over and tackle-hug her, when Butch's gun clicked again, freezing him in his tracks.  "Let her go!" he shouted to Giovanni.

            "I must remind you, you are in no position to make demands of me, von Malice," Giovanni said, returning to his chair.  Jessie was forced to her feet, and now Jessie, James and Meowth stood before their old boss.  "But since you put on such an exciting display against security, I'm willing to make you a deal."

            "What kind of deal?"

            "Simple.  Some time in the near future, there's going to be a martial arts tournament sanctioned by the World Pokémon League."

            "Is this your idea?" Jessie asked.

            "Yes.  I have an operative in the League that took care of everything down to the last detail.  All that awaits is the start of the tournament itself."

            "So, where do I come in?" James asked.

            "Not just you, but both of you.  You're both going to enter the Lord of the Fight tournament.  The winner of this tournament will be able to ask of the League anything he or she desires.  If either of you win, you will get the same deal...even if you ask for your freedom."

            "Freedom?" Meowth asked.

            "From you...that means, we never even have to hear the name 'Team Rocket' if we don't want to?"

            "That is correct.  However..." He stood, and leaned forward on his desk.  "The only way I will allow that to come to pass is if either one of you doesn't lose a single match."

            "What?" Jessie shouted.  "That's nuts!  Everyone in the world's going to want to enter this, including the best, right?  How are we to survive against – "

            "I'll do it."  James' declaration cut off Jessie.  He looked at her, calming her panicked air.  "It's the only way we'll be able to be truly free from these imbeciles, Jessie.  We don't have any other choice."

            "Then it's settled."  Giovanni rose, motioning for a few more grunts to take the three away.  "You'll have months to prepare for the tournament, you two.  I suggest you use your time wisely."  Once Jessie, James and Meowth were hauled off and the doors closed, he addressed Butch and Cassidy.  "You will enter as well, you two.  See to it that they lose.  Badly, if possible.  And if you can, see to it they don't make it out of the tournament alive."

            "No problem, boss," Butch replied.

            "We won't lose to the likes of them," Cassidy added.  The three of them chuckled, each picturing how they see the three of them falling for the devious trap Giovanni had planned. 

NAME:  James von Malice

STYLE:  Boxing, Freestyle Wrestling, and Rocketto Dan assassination techniques

DOB:  18 September 1977

HEIGHT:  6'0"

WEIGHT:  166 lbs.

HOBBY:  Hot-air ballooning

FAVORITE FOOD:  Ice-cream sandwiches

MOST IMPORTANT:  His bottle cap collection

LIKES:  Skeet-shooting, growing roses

DISLIKES:  Maltreatment


	8. Water Under the Bridge

POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE

I've returned to my regular writing schedule, so chances are I can get these out much more quickly.  Yay!

Usual disclaimers apply.  These characters do not belong to me.

TIME:  Sometime in the near future

LOCATION:  Cerulean City Gym, Cerulean City

            "Um...you're like, kidding, right?"

            "You're totally not serious, are you?"

            "Yeah, so, like...what put that idea in your head, and stuff?"

            Misty looked at her three older sisters in utter disbelief.  An invitation for the Lord of the Fight tournament had been sent to the Cerulean City gym, as it had been to all other gyms in Kanto and in Jhoto.  When the invitation came today inviting the Cerulean gym leader, Daisy, Violet and Lily Waterflower had other plans.  Said plans were to reject the invitation and denounce the League for hosting such a ridiculous tournament.

            Naturally, since the older sisters got it first, they spoke on behalf of the entire gym, not even once asking for Misty's opinion.  Hell, at times they didn't even want to consider her a sister, let alone a gym leader.

            Misty had managed to snatch the literature before either of her sisters could throw it out.  It now rested in her back pants pocket as she confronted the older Sensational Sisters.

            "Nothing 'got into my head'," Misty said coldly, not backing down from her older siblings.  "This is something I want to do!"

            "But who said you could?" Lily snapped.  "Did _we _say you could enter this tournament?"

            "Since when did I need your permission to do anything?!" came Misty's reply.

            "Since you left the gym and started hanging around that skinny little dork, Ash," Daisy said.

            "Since you're not even a real Sensational Sister," Violet added.  Misty was getting angrier.

            "But most importantly..." Lily finished.  She waited for Violet and Daisy to get ready to join her.  "...because we said so, that's why!"

            Misty was in shock.  But he shock soon left her and was replaced with a sudden realization.  Even if Misty's parents did favor the older sisters over her, she wasn't willing to let them boss her around.  When she was a little girl and was just getting into Pokémon, she didn't know any better.  Violet, Lily and Daisy habitually took advantage of their weaker youngest sister at every opportunity.  But now she was older – almost sixteen, to be exact – and was not going to take it anymore.

            "I didn't leave anything," she said.  "And don't you _dare _talk about Ash like that!"  Her last statement was almost a shout, and her voice reverberated off the walls.  As they were talking – or for a better term, arguing – they were in the gym itself, on the side of the large pool in which the gym battles were taking place and the stage of the Sensational Sisters' performances.  "I'm not going to be intimidated by you three anymore, got it?"  She turned her back to them.  "Besides...anyone who's anyone in the Pokémon industry is going to be there, I know it!"  Misty turned around to face her sisters.  "And who would be better to represent the best gym in the world than me?"

            "Me," said Daisy.

            "Me," said Violet.

            "Me," said Lily.  "See?  There's three choices right there."

            Misty grumbled angrily.  "It's been decided, little sis," Daisy said in a hard tone.  "If one of us doesn't go," she motioned to herself, Violet and Lily, "no one is.  And let's be honest, you can't fight for shit.  You don't even know how to throw a decent punch, do you?"

            Misty had had enough.  Her right fist clenched itself shut, out of her sisters' sight.  She was about to prove them wrong.  "What..." She held up her left hand to her older sister Daisy.  "...with this hand?"  For a slight second, her attention was drawn to Misty's elegant hand.  "Or this one?"  In a flash, Misty's left hand went to her side and her right fist snapped up and at Daisy.  She landed a stiff right jab on her sister's chin, which sent her stumbling back a few steps before landing flat on her butt.

            The others were shocked and appalled.  Daisy looked like she was about to cry.  But it soon turned out she was ready to scream.

            This sudden flash of defiance completely threw off Daisy.  She didn't have any time to think; she just reacted.  With a haggard scream, she lunged at her youngest sister, her fist cocked back.  With a flash of skill that her other sisters didn't know she possessed, she parried, and sidestepped the attack.  As her sister's eyes flashed wide in shock just before Misty drove her knee into her exposed stomach with all the force she could muster.  After pausing for a second – and readying herself – her leg snapped up and struck Daisy; it only got her in the shoulder, but it had enough force to send her splashing into the water.

            Daisy surfaced a moment later, her hair soaked and matted to her face, looking up at Misty with the same shocked expression.  She could practically hear the balance of power shifting in the opposite direction.  Misty stood over with a hard, stern glare, which sent a chill through Daisy's body even more intense than the cold water could produce.

            "What were you saying about not throwing a punch?" Misty asked.

            Misty didn't bother to elaborate on where exactly she picked up those moves.  But the pain she felt when her sisters insulted Ash like that still lingered.

            Speaking of Ash, that's exactly where she "picked up those moves".  Ever since Brock left, she had found herself spending more and more time with Ash.  Not enough for them to be sick of one another, but not enough for them to spend every waking minute on the phone to one another.  The two were virtually inseparable while Ash was at home, training for the Lord of the Fight.  Ash had taken time off from most serious Pokémon competitions for some well-deserved rest, as well as to focus on his training.

            Ash went to formal training under Genju three days a week for a few hours a day.  He was very experienced, and aside from the Master, only two other students outranked him – both black belts, but not masters.  When he wasn't in class, he would be in his back yard for a while, training his body and his mind.  Meanwhile, Misty would watch her boyfriend – usually from a distance – watching his every move, every punch, every kick, every tactic.  Ash kept refining his moves so much it seemed like he would be unbeatable.  She couldn't keep up with all of his techniques just by watching him, but had seen enough punches and kicks to perform them on her own without much trouble.

            She was quick enough on her own, and being a Sensational Sister, she had been taking up dance and gymnastics since she was a little girl.  Naturally (according to her older sisters) she wasn't anywhere near as good a performer as her older sisters.

            Misty flashed a glance at her two other sisters, a gesture that begged them to try something.  When nothing came, Misty turned on her heel, and strode out of the gym.

TIME:  Later that night, around 11:00  
LOCATION:  Misty's room

            Misty sat on her bed, rubbing a towel through her hair after just getting out of the shower not too long ago.  Her Togepi sat on her pillow, his back to her as Misty finished drying herself off.  She was barely finished getting dressed when the phone rang.  Almost instinctively she knew who was on the other end.

            "Hello?" she said, picking up the phone.  She pushed her arms through the sleeves and the garment reached down to mid-thigh.

            "Hey Misty," Ash's voice said over the phone.

            "Hey," she said sweetly.  She was wearing only said nightshirt as she sat back down on her bed.  She gently lifted Togepi up and set him off to the side, watching him crawl under the covers and start to sleep.

            "What's going on?" Ash asked.

            "Not much, just got out of the shower."  She tossed her towel to the side.  "I wouldn't have imagined you to be up at this hour, honestly."

            "Why not?"  
  
            "Well I'm sure you've been training pretty hard, haven't you?  I'd imagine you'd be too tired to even walk." She couldn't help but chuckle, the image of Ash dragging his exhausted body up the tall flight of stairs to his room, collapsing the second he hit his bed.

            "Yeah, well...I gotta give myself _some _time to recuperate.  I don't want to completely wear myself out, you know?"

            "Yeah, you're no fun when you barely have the strength to stand."  There was a hidden meaning in that last statement, something she wondered if he picked up on.  Either way, she continued with her conversation.  "And speaking of the tournament..." Misty fingered the filled out application for the Lord of the Fight tournament, glancing over the information once or twice before putting it back on the desk.  It would have to be mailed out tomorrow.  "...I have to tell you something.  I've decided to enter myself.  Cool, huh?"  No response came for a little while.  "Ash?"

            "Misty...are you for real?"

            "Of course I am.  Why not?"

            "Well...I'm just a little worried, that's all.  I mean, I – well, we – don't know exactly what we're gonna be up against.  And, well...I'm worried something might happen to you, Misty."

            "I'm capable of taking care of myself, Ash Ketchum!"

            "I didn't say that you weren't.  I just...don't want to see you get hurt, that's all."

            Now it was Misty's turn to be speechless.  It's amazing that a guy like Ashura Ketchum could be a bit clumsy, headstrong, self-righteous and thick headed, and yet be so caring and concerned for those closest to him.  Of course, very few people other than his Pokémon, his mother, herself and Brock saw that side.

            "That's sweet of you to say, Ash," she said after a little while.  "But come on, think about it.  How many times have we endangered ourselves while you were training for the League competitions?  We've endured lots of dangerous situations, Ash.  Why should we get hung up over a little tournament?"

            Ash sighed.  "I guess you're right," he said.  "Still, you know I worry about you..."

            "I know.  But don't worry, I'll be alright."

            "Alright.  Well, goodnight, Misty.  Love ya."

            "Love you too, Ash."  She heard the other end disconnect, and she hung up the phone.  Though she hadn't realized it, she had spent more than a half hour on the phone with Ash, talking about whatever events happened that day.  The incident earlier with her sisters seemed to stick out the most in her mind, and Ash was a bit surprised at how Misty put her older sisters in order.  

            Misty made sure not to disturb her sleeping Togepi as she slid into bed and pulled the covers up over her.  As she settled into sleep, her own words kept coming back into her subconscious.

            Why should they get hung up over one tournament?  In a few short the years, the entire world will get hung up over a little tournament……………

NAME:  Misty Waterflower

STYLE:  No singular style; mostly gymnastic and dance-based attacks

DOB:  24 April 1983

HEIGHT:  5'2"

WEIGHT:  108 lbs.

HOBBY:  Aquatics

FAVORITE FOOD:  Seafood

MOST IMPORTANT:  The Cerulean City gym

LIKES:  Water Pokémon, water-related activities

DISLIKES:  Bugs


	9. The Student Teacher Relationship

POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE

Usual disclaimers apply.  These characters do not belong to me.

TIME:  About a year and a half after Chapter 2

LOCATION:  Thorn Mountains, behind Blackthorn City

            Back behind the city of Blackthorn, home of Claire Keenan, a tamer of dragon Pokémon as well as the sacred Dragon Shrine, are the Thorn Mountains, the largest, rockiest mountain range in Jhoto.  A popular hiking and camping region, many hikers and junior Pokémon trainers can be found lurking about at any given time.  This area also possesses one of the highest concentrations of rock-type Pokémon anywhere in both Jhoto _and _Kanto, making it one of the definitive areas to catch a rock Pokémon.  Even on occasions, it wasn't uncommon to see young lovers basking in the beautiful sunset that graced the Thorn Mountains every day of the year.

            Now was not the time for any of that, though.

            Now was the time for intense training, administrated by Pokémon Elitist and world-renowned Judo king Bruno Santangelo, and his pupil, the young Pewter City gym leader Brock Ballas.  The Lord of the Fight tournament was less than two years away, and the most intense training was yet to come.

            As he promised his student, Bruno's regiment of training, training, and...well, more training was difficult.  For the first week or two, things were relatively calm, as Bruno taught Brock first a few house rules (the two trained and lived in Bruno's cabin nestled within the mountains), and plenty of cardiovascular work and conditioning.  It would be but a whole month before Bruno started to teach Brock his art.

            When they weren't spending their time conditioning, weight lifting, meditating or otherwise, Bruno was gradually teaching Brock everything he knew.  As expected, Brock stuck to his guns no matter how difficult things were for him.  He didn't get a chance to tell Bruno himself, but he once told Ash that he idolized the Judo king.  _Knowing Ash, _Brock thought, _he'd probably ask me if I felt the same way after he sees what he does to me..._  Living and studying under master Bruno had its ups and down.  Some times had more ups than downs, others had more downs than ups.  There would be times when he would pay for his failures – Bruno had a surprising low tolerance for screwing up, Brock learned.  A good deal of the pain Brock received was for doing just that.

            The rest can be attributed to other...misfortunes.  Such as flubbing moves he was practicing on his own...

            ...and sparring with master Bruno and being tossed around...

            ...and being slammed, taken down, and even put through several a flimsy wall of Bruno's dojo...

            ...and, on one occasion, taking a nasty tumble down a slope – courtesy of a hard elbow shot to the chest – resulting in him landing hard on a large boulder.

            This incident seemed prominent in the minds of both the student and the teacher.  Bruno rushed down a mountain trail, which inevitably led to the spot where Brock landed.  He was a few paces away from his groaning, wounded disciple, who was currently face down atop a boulder.  Brock's agitated grown made Bruno chuckle a bit, but just low enough not to be heard.  He walked over to Brock.  By now, he had rolled off, and was on the ground, on his back, looking up at the sky with a glazed-over look in his eyes.

            "You alright?" Bruno asked.  His face bore a smirk as Brock twitched slightly.

            "I think I just...marked that boulder as...my...territory..." Brock groaned.  Bruno chuckled heartily, much to Brock's chagrin.  Here he was, pretty badly wounded, lying at his sensei's feet while said sensei stands there and laughs.  It wasn't meant to be insulting or anything; Brock's reaction to being injured in such a matter was what was funny, not the injury itself.

            Bruno stretched his hand out to Brock, who took it, and pulled him back to his feet.  Though he was doing his damnedest to fight it, Brock was in quite a lot of pain.  He hastily wiped the trace of blood that had appeared in his mouth from his lips, trying not to show his master any signs of weakness.  But Bruno knew.  Many times, when he was his age, he did the same thing, trying to trick one of his early masters in similar fashion.

            "Come on," Bruno said, "let's head back."  Bruno started back up the trail, his hands behind his back, while Brock followed a few paces behind.  About half of the trek back to Bruno's dojo was quiet – Brock had somehow gained the habit of not speaking unless spoken to.  Brock figured it to be a way of showing respect, that's all.

            Bruno went to speak, but was a bit surprised to see his student trailing behind like that.  He partially figured he was still a bit groggy from taking such a hard fall like that.  Regardless, it bothered him a bit.

            Seeing Bruno stop suddenly made Brock do the same.  He was a few steps away, and he saw Bruno throw a glance over his shoulder at him.  He beckoned to him, his hand never leaving the small of his back.  Brock hurried over to his master's side, and they continued to walk.

            "Ahh, that's better," Bruno remarked.  "You know, Brock, there's no need for all the humility around me.  It bothers me just as much as it does you."

            Brock glanced at Bruno.  His head bowed slightly, and he spoke.  "Sorry, master," he said.

            "No, no, you've nothing to apologize for," Bruno continued.  "What I mean to say is you shouldn't constantly be holding your head down, son.  Think about it for a second.  Have you realized just how much progress you've made here in the past year or so?  I must admit that not even I expected you to be at this level."

            "Yeah, well, I'm merely fulfilling a promise, if you want to get really technical about it."  He exhaled deeply.  "I promised I wouldn't quit no matter how difficult it was, and I'm not going to break that promise any time soon."

            Bruno smiled.  "I'd expect nothing else from a fine young man such as yourself.  Your dedication and persistence are of a caliber I have not seen in such a long time."  He glanced at Brock.  "You must have developed those traits traveling with Ashura all those years, ne?"

            "Probably," Brock chuckled.  "Speaking of which, I spoke to him the other day.  He sends word that Misty, another friend of ours, is entering the tournament as well."

            "I see.  And how good of a fighter is she?"

            "I don't know.  All Ash told me was that she was entering."  He looked to his master.  "We'll just have to wait and see how good she is, won't we?"

            "Indeed we shall, Brock."

            That was more than half a year ago.  As time passed, Brock's skill and strength grew.  Anyone who knew Brock by now could take one look and see the change in him.  He was built much better than before, having much more definition in his upper body, especially in his arms.  Bruno saw his skill and grasp on his form of Judo (Bruno taught a style that is based on Judo, but combines elements of wrestling, Pancratium, as well as other styles), and believed that he'd soon be able to say he taught him everything he knows.

            So with about eighteen months until the start of the tournament, Bruno decided it was time for a change of setting.

            He woke Brock a half hour earlier than usual, and much to his pupil's surprise, he was told to pack his stuff.  "Pack my stuff?" Brock had asked, surprised, "what's going on?"  
  
            "We're going on a trip, Brock," Bruno explained.  "Our training is going to continue elsewhere."

            Brock was up, and as instructed, putting his belongings into his duffle bag.  He looked around the main room of the dojo when he was finished.  Bruno wasn't there.  He stepped outside and saw Bruno, looking over the horizon, his back to Brock.  Brock slid the door shut and took a few steps forward, and stopped when Bruno turned around suddenly.

            "Master?"

            "It's time for you to continue your training," he said in his low, deep voice.  "And for me to start mine anew."

            "_Your _training?" Brock had no idea what Bruno was talking about.

            Bruno threw a glance over his shoulder at Brock, and as he started to walk away, Brock followed.  "Let us go."

            Without another word, Brock stayed at his master's heels as they traveled back down the path from his cabin in the mountains into Blackthorn City.

            They paused to have some breakfast in the city, but were quickly back on the road again.  Brock had been hesitant to ask his master's motives in suddenly just picking up and leaving, but he feared the repercussions of questioning him.  Though the worst punishment he had received was excessive pushups (on his knuckles), but that was over something comparatively trivial.  He shuddered to think what he would do if he dared speak against him now.

            Though, Bruno wasn't a violent man in the least.  He wasn't prone to losing his temper or patience too often, but the few times he did, he could how dangerous he could be.

            By 8:00 that morning, they were outside of Blackthorn City.  Bruno informed Brock they were going to Olivine City.  "You're probably wondering why we are doing this, correct?" he asked.

            "Yes," Brock answered nervously, "I am.  This is a change of pace, needless to say."

            "Well, I've been meaning to explain that to you," Bruno started.  "Brock, how do you think I got to the position I am in today?  As a martial artist and a member of the Elite Four?"

            Brock shrugged.  "By working your ass off, I'd say," he said.  "How else?"

            "True.  But I'm far from a workaholic, and to me, the way you answered, that's what you're assuming.  You forget that I wasn't born into this position.  I had to work for what I've achieved."

            Bruno glanced at his student.  He was hanging on his every word.  Good.  "Another thing you have to understand is that at one point, I was a student to my master, just as you are to me.  We all have our roots, our origins, where everything began.  Everyone had to start somewhere, Brock.  That is why I'm taking you to where I got _my _start."

            "And where is that, master?"

            "Cianwood City."  Brock's eyes widened in surprise.  "Do you know of the gym leader Chuck?" 

            "Know him?  Man, tell me about it.  I first met him when Ash challenged him for his Storm badge.  The man's a maniac!  I heard stories from some of his students that he trains 24/7 – literally!"  He cocked his head to the side.  "Why, do you know him?"  
  
            "He is my master."

            Brock's lips pursed.  Never in his visit to Chuck's gym did he ask Chuck about this.  Then again, the subject never exactly came to his mind, either.  He shrugged, and the two continued on their way.

            They took no major stops in any of the cities they passed through, and were able to make it to Olivine City by around noon.  Bruno's boat was in the same place it was when they first docked in the city, and the student and teacher got in and set sail, as if they had only been there a couple of hours.

            While they ran into stormy weather on their way to Blackthorn via Olivine, today would not be the case.  The boat trip was calm, the wind catching the sail and propelling the modest vessel towards its destination. 

            The Whirl Islands can be considered the "home stretch" to Cianwood, and seeing them and the plethora of whirlpools that dotted the archipelago were a way of saying to Brock, "we're almost there". 

            "We're approaching the Whirl Islands, Brock," Bruno said, taking a sip from a bottle of spring water.  He looked over at his student.  "It'll only be about another hour or so until we arrive at Cianwood."  It wasn't long before Bruno noticed Brock wasn't paying attention.  He tilted his head to the side.  Brock was sitting down, looking out starboard side, leaning forward with his chin resting on his hand.  He was lost in thought.

Just as whirlpools stirred the clear, blue water, the Whirl Islands stirred memories in Brock's mind.  One of the areas they passed was a rope suspension bridge over a small river, plagued with whirlpools.  He remembered the incident well – he, Ash and Misty were crossing that bridge (which was in much worse shape than it's in now; it looks like it was replaced since they were there).  Suddenly, about halfway across, the bridge started to break, and they were running as fast as they could to avoid falling into the whirlpools below.  Brock got to safety first, followed by Ash, who ended up pulling Misty the last foot or so.  Brock noticed Misty clutching Ash's hand fearfully – who instinctively wrapped his arm around her waist – as they watched the bridge fall away, getting sucked into the whirlpools below.

            "Brock?" Bruno called.  He cleared his throat.  "Yo, Brock?"  Still no response.  He took another sip of his water, then glanced at the bottle.  It was almost empty.  In an instant, his hand lashed out, and the remaining water flew out and splashed on Brock's face.

            Brock was brought crashing back to reality thanks to Bruno splashing water on him.  He shouted in surprise and flailed about momentarily before looking back at his master.  "What was that for?!" he asked.

            "You seemed in your own world, Brock," Bruno said with a smile.

            "Oh, well, um..."  Brock looked back at his previous vantage point.  "I had..." he motioned out at the gap he was staring at. "There was something out there that seemed familiar..."  Bruno nodded in understanding.

            At about sunset, Bruno's boat landed on the shores of Cianwood City.  There was no harbor in Cianwood, so the two resorted to beaching the craft, pulling it up onto the beach and taking down the sail, storing it in the small cabin.

            They walked through the small seaside town, making their way to the gym itself.  Again, Brock thought back to the first time he entered the gym, but now, only his sensei was with him.  His friends were not.  That wasn't going to stop him.

            As he began his training under Chuck, Bruno's master, he started to fully understand what Bruno meant that he was a student at one point.  He wasn't used to seeing Chuck manhandling Bruno the way he did to him.  And furthermore, Bruno never seemed like the type of guy who would let himself be ordered around by anyone!

            Through what Brock saw as a strange role-reversal, he began to further realize the student-teacher relationship.

NAME:  Bruno Santangelo

STYLE:  Combined martial arts based on Judo

DOB:  14 August 1958

HEIGHT:  6'5"

WEIGHT:  304 lbs.

HOBBY:  Training

FAVORITE FOOD:  Steamed buns

MOST IMPORTANT:  His dojo nestled in the Thorn Mountains

LIKES:  Nature, tranquility

DISLIKES:  Chaos, disorder


	10. Represent

POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE

Okay, starting after this chapter, the actual tournament fighting will begin.  So stay tuned, true believers.  You will not be disappointed by the fights in this story.

Usual disclaimers apply.  These characters do not belong to me.

TIME:  Around 4:00 PM, days before the start of the tournament

LOCATION:  Celadon City

            _Wow, three years certainly did fly by, now that I think of it..._

            The sun was shining over the beautiful, picturesque Celadon City.  Today isn't an ordinary day in the city, though, in terms of the Pokémon industry.  Trainers come and go from the city, training, battling, hoping to acquire the Rainbow Badge from the Celadon City gym from its leader.  And while the Gym today is closed, the perfume shop – owned by said leader – remains functioning regardless.  After all, it would be the owner itself who was going out of town, not every last employee working there.

            The Lord of the Fight's calling reached all around Kanto and Jhoto, and had taken Celadon in the process without a second thought.  But just because Celadon City gym leader Erika Laurence wasn't entering the tournament itself did not necessarily exclude her from the tournament's influence.

            Erika stood in her room, standing in front of a mirror, clad in her underwear.  She was getting ready to go out for the evening – more specifically, to Indigo Plateau, where a gala banquet was being held for the participants in the Lord of the Fight tournament.  Though she turned down the invitation to compete (she had no fighting abilities outside of Pokémon training whatsoever), but official mail sent not too much longer after the invitations – sent to all the Gym Leaders – spelled out their duties as leaders for the duration of the tournament.  They would be required to host matches in their hometowns, not necessarily in the gyms themselves.  If a Gym Leader wanted to modify their Gym to host the fights, they were more than welcome to do so.

            _This one?  No..._ Erika said to herself, _maybe this?  Nah, I don't think so..._

            Truth be told, Erika wasn't looking forward to tonight's ordeal.  She was only going because a) it was her duty as a Gym Leader in the World Pokémon League, and b) a stubborn, hard-headed young man who was seriously attracted to her practically _begged her _to be his date for the banquet.  But Erika, being kind hearted by nature, just couldn't bring herself to say no to this guy's pleas.

            In the end, Erika decided on a dark green sleeveless dress, which came down to just above her knees.  Her hair was neatly done, pulled back by a bright red ribbon.  She readily applied her makeup, sprayed on some of her trademark perfume, and gave herself one last good look in the mirror.  _Beautiful as always, _Erika thought.

            Erika walked out of her room and waited by the window of the living room.  Her date should be here any minute now – it was almost 4:30, and she hated dates that were not on time.  But she had been on a few dates with this guy and they weren't _too _bad.  What's the worst that could happen?

TIME:  Simultaneously

LOCATION:  Other side of the city

            Looking in the mirror, he gave his appearance a last look over.  In his youth, most of his attire consisted of the colors green and yellow, with sporadic instances of blue thrown in every now and then.  Blue and green fingerless gloves gave way to white leather counterparts as his hands outgrew his old ones.

            The scrawny little kid he was is long gone, and the man was slowly removing any traces of childish thoughts or actions.  His voice – long plagued by erratic and downright embarrassing cracking for what felt like forever – was now settled into a more grown up, more mature tone, a tone settling somewhere between that of Spike Spiegel and Mirai no Trunks.  He was in pretty decent shape for someone his age, and now is more befitting the term "wiry" than "scrawny".  He was still a loner at heart, but he did ache for love.

            Would he find it?  Probably, someday.  But right now, there are more important things to think about.  

             "Come on, Sparky, we gotta get moving or we're gonna be late!"

            "Pika, pika!" {Ready when you are!"} the scruffy-haired Pikachu answered.

            For as long as he could remember in recent times, Ritchie McManus was as happy as a young man can get.  Almost three years ago, his travels after competing in the Jhoto league led him back to his hometown of Celadon.  He was upset that he placed in exactly the same spot as he did in the Indigo league, but at the same time, was pleased that his friend Ash Ketchum took the Jhoto League championship home with him, and was proclaimed a Pokémon master.  Unfortunately for the both of them, they never got to settle their score from the Indigo league, and seeing his friend's new status, he realized much more training was in order.

            Ritchie hung around Celadon mostly, not straying more than two or three cities away from his home.  A lot of times, he was battling some of the toughest trainers he's run into in quite a while.  It was actually rather refreshing, his limits as a Pokémon trainer tested day in and day out.

            A lot of times, he would return to Celadon, and to the gym.  While part of him was interested in getting experience for his Pokémon, the other part of him was interested in...something else.  More than once his attentions were drawn to Erika, the Gym Leader.  He would have generally nice things to say to the girls there (the gym's harsh anti-male beliefs were not her doing, but one set forth by leaders before her), and was practically smothering Erika in his words.

            But as many times as he had visited there – and the perfume shop – it wasn't until a few months ago did he finally work up the balls to ask her out.

            Ritchie was a bit nervous; he was 17 and _just now _going on his first date.  He had used his Pokémon journeys as an excuse for this at first, the belief being that it's hard to manage a relationship and train as a Pokémon trainer and have both run smoothly.  But from what he could tell, he had a good time, she had a good time...all in all, it was a good time for all.

            They went on a few dates between then and today, and Ritchie didn't try anything unusual.  Temptations to go just a little it further with her were put aside, as he noticed her behavior when they hung out while not dating.  She seemed so shy, so apprehensive.  Ritchie didn't dare want to ruin what he worked hard to get to (so he thinks), so he held back, fighting every instinct telling him to do the opposite.

            He dashed out to the driveway where his 2002 Celica was parked, pressing a button on his keychain that unlocked the doors.  Throwing the driver's side open, letting Sparky take the passenger seat, he turned the ignition, and pulled out of the driveway and out onto the streets of the city, bound for the Celadon gym.

            Despite the horrendous traffic in this part of the city at this time of day, Ritchie managed to get to the gym at the appointed time of 4:30.  He parallel parked outside the gym's main entrance, and hopped out of the car, leaning against the passenger side door – which was facing the gym itself – waiting on his date.

            Just as he expected, a few minutes later, Erika approached him, flashing a small, albeit a bit apprehensive, smile (Ritchie didn't notice this in the least).  Being a gentleman and all, he opened her car door, and ushered her in.  Sparky saw this and relocated himself to the backseat of the car.  He hurried over to the driver's side.

            "All ready?" he asked with a bright smile.  Erika was a bit taken back by Ritchie's sudden bursts of affection towards her, and she returned his smile with a polite one of her own.

            "Sure," she answered.  "Come on, I don't want to be late."

            He pulled out of his parking space, turned onto the main road, and drove off, bound for Indigo.

            What took Ritchie months to accomplish at the age of 10 on his Pokémon journey took him about an hour and fifteen minutes to get to.  Navigating through traffic wasn't too big of a deal; right now, he was more concerned about tonight's events, the events to occur in the tournament, and most importantly, the chance to talk to Erika.

            "You know," Erika had told him.  "you didn't seem like the kind of person to go out for a tournament like this."  She first brought up the information on the tournament when he had visited the gym shortly after receiving the literature.  She had no real plans for it, so, after asking politely, Ritchie took the pamphlets home with him, and looked over them himself.

            "Yeah, well," he answered, "that's what makes things interesting.  What is planned out and what actually happens can turn out to be two totally different things.  Hey, I never once expected Ash to be a Pokémon Master, but he became one anyway."

            Erika nodded her head.  It was indeed a surprise when she heard the news, that the same kid that first rambled on about how much he thought her perfume _stunk_ and later saved her and a few of her Pokémon from the burning Gym was now a Pokémon Master.  "Yes, but seriously...I don't mean to sound rude or uncaring or anything like that, but if you hadn't entered, it would save both of us a lot of headaches.  You know that, right?"

            Part of Ritchie was upset with Erika's words, thinking they were meant to cut him to pieces and grind them to a find dust.  But that part was quickly bound, gagged, and stuffed in a dark corner of Ritchie's subconscious.  "Probably," he said, cocking his head to the side, not taking his eyes off the road before him.  "But hey, I'm looking forward to the challenge.  Besides, someone's gotta represent Celadon!" He shook his fist at the mention of representing, a gesture that Erika regarded with a nervous bead of sweat forming on the side of her head.  "If not me, then who else?"  
  


            "No one I can think up off the top of my head."

TIME:  Around 6:00

LOCATION:  Oak Hall, Indigo Plateau

            Most of the world knows Indigo Plateau solely for its stadium, or as simply the headquarters of the World Pokémon League.  But what they don't know is that it actually is a plateau – a plain set upon a tall expense of land (the top is where the stadium itself and the Poké-commons, the general meeting ground for trainers and members of the media are).

            The interior of the plateau was far from a plateau itself.  In fact, to a casual observer, one could suddenly believe that they are inside an eloquent skyscraper, such as one that could be found in Viridian City, for example.

            Many of the inner workings of the WPL took place in this infrastructure carved out of a mountainside.  The bottom floors, the first few just above the lobby, contain such structures as banquet and assembly halls.  Offices made up the next few floors above it, many of which are the brains of the World Pokémon League itself.  Atop the office area are the suites, where trainers would be welcome to stay during their duration at the Indigo League.  The Indigo League competition was almost a week event, and the trainers had to be relaxed and at ease going into their battles.

            Tonight, this concealed base of operations for the League will be put to full use, for tonight, the warriors participating in the Lord of the Fight will gather here.

            They began shortly arriving after 6:00 PM, in all fashions, and in a variety of different rides.  Those who drove on their own accord were directed to valet parking just after they were allowed in through the main gates.  Other methods of transportation were directed away, possibly to come back tomorrow to take the passengers back from where they came.

            Lorelei Prima was granted complete control over the Lord of the Fight tournament and most of its operations, meaning she would only have to answer to a handful of execs, regarding the way the tournament is shaping up.  Inside the largest and most lavish ballroom – named after Professor Samuel Oak, who contributed a generous sum of money to aid in the construction of the new WPL headquarters – a generous buffet was being prepared.  Would these fighters and their dates consume this entire grand feast?  Probably not.  But the idea is that the fighters may enjoy themselves just once before the start of the tournament.

*  *  *  *  *

            He was one of the first to arrive, and quite frankly, her least favorite of any of the gym leaders.  Though tonight, he would probably not have his usual hard-ass attitude and unfathomable arrogance about him, Prima knew she and Lt. Surge would go together like oil and water.

            He arrived in an olive drab jeep, and was a little reluctant to let valet parking take care of it.  His remedy to his apprehension was to threaten the tenant that _if you put a scratch in this thing, I'm gonna snap your ass in two, baby!  _His bag, which lay in the passenger seat of the jeep, would be taken to his room and would await him when he would turn in for the night.  The doormen working the main hall – as well as the banquet hall itself – opened the doors for him as he entered, clicking their heels in salute at him.  Lt. Surge was clad in standard dress blues – an olive drab dress shirt and blue slacks, with black shoes so highly polished one could see their reflection in them.  Even if Prima hated the Lieutenant's guts, she couldn't help but notice how striking he looked.  "Lieutenant," she managed to get out, her voice dripping with apathy, "to what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

            Jason picked up the tone of her voice instantly, and smirked all the same.  "Nice to see you too, Ms. Prima," he answered.

            The very site of Jason Surge disgusted her.  Needless to say, he had been a hothead.  For her, this man had caused her trouble from day one of his career as a gym leader.  She remembers many a complaint issued to the Indigo League regarding Surge's behavior.  Sure, it was a common trait amongst gym leaders to try and psyche out or intimidate would-be trainers looking for a badge.  But Surge's actions were downright harassment.  The actions of himself and the numerous junior trainers he had under him were appalling, his behavior unacceptable.  Many of his junior trainers lost their trainer's license as a result.  Because of his actions, the Vermilion City gym always had a fresh batch of new trainers every month or two.

            Prima turned on her heel and walked away, not wanting to say anything more than she had to.  She left him with one last thought, though.  "I want this to be an incident-free event, Surge.  So if you know what's good for you, you won't try any shit tonight, understand?"  And she disappeared back into the banquet hall.

            Surge grabbed a glass of wine off a tray being brought out by a servant.  "What?" he asked, pausing to take a sip of the white zinfandel.  "No chit-chat?" 

*  *  *  *  *

            More and more guests started to arrive within the half hour, and soon, the din of multiple conversations accented with a bit of laughter was heavy in the air.

            Among other earlier arrivals was none other than Gary Oak, along with the professor.  Professor Oak was clad in a gray Armani with a black dress shirt underneath.  Gary dressed in a decisively less dressed up fashion.  He was wearing a long purple shirt that came down to his hips, and black slacks and boots.  His favorite yin-yang charm hung around his neck, as usual.  They ignored the porters who were carrying off their luggage.

            "I don't see why you had to get me to come out here, Gramps," Gary said.  He had disagreed with this idea from the moment it came about, but ended up going just to get his grandfather rattle on relentlessly about it.  Attendance wasn't mandatory, at least not by the League standards.

            "Because they invited us, and it would be awfully rude for you to turn them down," Professor Oak answered.  He quickly thought that the best way to get him in the mood is to appeal to the reason he's entered to begin with.  "Besides, wouldn't you just love to get one last look at your opponents before you beat them in this tournament?"

            Gary smirked.  "Maybe you're right, Gramps, maybe you're right." 

*  *  *  *  *

            No one was expecting an entire busload to show up.

            An old school bus decorated with lavish murals on either side just under the windows wasn't the first to arrive, but its entrance was quite memorable.  Lively dance music had been pumping from the converted bus' sound system, which was hard to distinguish from the loud chants coming from the passengers inside.  Lights are strung up around the top of the bus, giving it an eerie glow as it drove in the growing darkness.

            The bus pulled to a stop outside the gates, the music and chanting stopped, and the back and front doors opened.  A few people exited the front and went around the back, pulling the luggage out and setting it down.  They carried them to the front, where Tracey got out, waiting on them.

            Amongst everyone on the bus, Tracey stands out like a sore thumb.  Everyone (including Tracey) on the bus is a native, or descended from, of the Orange Islands.  These people are members of the Orange Island Capoeira Company (based in Troveta), and aside from skill in Capoeira, a requirement for membership is the being of some native Orange Island blood.  

            Tracey is white.  The natives range in complexion from bronze to almost as black as the night.

            While he was just as skilled as some of the older members in the Company, his apparently obvious ancestry just may have kept him from being a member.  But what no one – not even Tracey, until in the past few years – knew is that Tracey is able to trace his lineage back more than just his grandparents.  He did extensive research into his past, and discovered some very interesting facts.

            Tracey's oldest known ancestors are early Portuguese colonials, who explored the archipelago with the intention of adding it to their empire, so they could keep up with the growing overseas empires of England, France, and Spain.  One of the explorers mated with a native woman, and that produced a few half-Trovetian, half-Portuguese children.  Over the next hundred years, while the islands were still in possession of Portugal, the amount of native blood fluctuated as the children married natives or descendants of the settlers.  The Portuguese were chased out after several battles with the British, who claimed the islands in the name of King William.  It was around this time the islands became known as the Orange Islands, and remained in British hands until the late 19th century, when they became an American commonwealth.  As it stands now, Tracey is approximately ¾ Portuguese and British, with the remaining ¼ native Orange Island blood.  Obviously, the traits of the natives don't show as much as the white traits.

            This all came as a great shock to Tracey, who had no idea of his family's past.  When he presented the results of his research to Otto (the organizer of the OICC), he was just surprised as Tracey, who answered his disbelief with a simple "Yeah, that's what I said."  Tracey was taken in, and his skill increased dramatically through the years.

            All his training and performances with the group have paid off, making him leaner, more muscular, and his Capoeira knows few, if any, rival on the islands.  Tonight, Tracey is dressed in white cargo pants and a blue silk Trovetian (a.k.a. Hawaiian) shirt bearing a floral print, with a dark blue undershirt, and brown, tattered sandals.  His trademark pink headband is present, in the same place on his head as it always was.  At first glance, it would appear his hair is the same length.  In reality, his hair is now worn in dreadlocks, each lock capped off with pink and white beads.  Japanese kanji is tattooed on his right forearm, the characters spelling out the phrase "Dances With the Wind".

            He is not alone tonight, and before he and a few of his Company mates (Otto included) can walk inside, a lady standing at the bus's entrance clears her throat, getting their attention.  She's wearing a white priestess outfit similar to the one she was wearing when she first met Tracey and his friends on Shamuti Island.  "Forgetting someone?" Melody asked, stepping off the bus and looping her arm around Tracey's left arm.

            "Of course not," Tracey said with a nervous laugh.  It had not been his idea to have Melody as a date, but when she learned of Tracey's plans, she pretty much refused to let him out of her site until she agreed to take her with him.

            Tracey, along with Melody and four of his Company mates, three men and one woman, entered the banquet hall. 

*  *  *  *  *

            When he arrived, they were treated like they were royalty.  Ash didn't know how to feel about that.

            They were allowed to ride by limousine provided by the League, but the now much older, much bigger Ash refused, saying he'd rather drive there himself.  He stopped by to pick up Misty on his way to the Indigo Plateau tonight, and they were ready to make a big splash.

            Ash now stood 6' tall, and now had an entire head on Misty.  He was much more muscular than he was, an obvious result of his intense training.  Misty developed into a real knockout, and she was now prone to jealous stares from less fortunate women who wanted to be with her Ash.  Misty was the only one for Ash, and vice versa.

            In the years since Ash became a Pokémon master, he made tons of money through battling, public appearances, endorsements, and the like.  He had more than enough to stay satisfied and down to earth at the same time.  Despite this, his mother insisted she buy him a car, not wanting to see her son spend so much hard-earned money so frivolously.  Delia made it obvious she wasn't going to let her son's first car be a land rocket that was a Lamborghini, or some $100,000-some Bentley, which was just fine (Ash didn't like the look of a Bentley, despite the stigma that every true "baller" and "playa" had to have one).  By this end, Ash could've had whatever he wanted, and much to his mother's surprise, he settled on a large, black Ford F-150 with a full-size cab.  Of course, what he wanted to add to it he could do with his own money.

            His truck bore the green L-shaped logo of the World Pokémon League painted on there, the same design on his hat.  While the League changed their logo, Ash adopted the logo as his personal insignia once it was discarded by the WPL.  He had a heavy duty Rhydon lining installed on the flatbed on the truck, making it virtually indestructible.  The stereo system was quickly upgraded, making it produce much more noise than it did previously.  The right side of the back window as adorned with a red outline of Vash The Stampede, while the left had the outline of Sailor Saturn, her Silence Glaive in hand, and the license plate of the truck read "PKMNMSTR".  His ride was unmistakable.

            He was dressed in a white tuxedo shirt and jacket with black pants and black shoes.  Misty looked absolutely gorgeous in her shimmering blue dress, which reached down to her ankles and was low cut in the bust.  Their luggage was in the cab behind them, which would be whisked up to their suite once Ash's truck was safely parked.

            "Ready for this?" Ash asked, taking her hand.

            "I'm ready," she said, grabbing her matching evening bag.  "This is exciting, I've never been inside this thing before."

            "Neither have I."  He went quiet for a while as they made their entrance.  "I wonder if Brock is here yet," he said to her just loud enough to be heard by just her. 

*  *  *  *  *

            Brock was indeed there, and he, his master Bruno, _his _master Chuck, and Tracey managed to catch up with one another after not too long.  Brock, Bruno and Chuck are dressed in similar fashion – frog button frocks (Bruno and Brock are wearing black, Chuck is clad in red) with white under-cuffs and white pants and shoes.  The color of Chuck's attire is meant to distinguish the old man as _the _master, and is doing a fairly good job of doing so.  Once the introductions were done with, the bulk of the conversation was carried out between Ash, Misty, Brock and Tracey.  Most was a recounting of the years that had gone by without seeing one another.  In the backs of all their minds, victory was gnawing at them, aching to win this tournament.

            At the same time, they had no idea what awaited them.

            On the other side of the room, James stayed to himself, in relative silence.  He was hoping above anything else that he would find his beloved Jessie here, but no such luck.  Chances are Team Rocket had her locked away somewhere, or placed under heavy surveillance, out of his site, out of his grasp.  Instead, he saw the people he would inevitably have to face in the upcoming tournament, and how he would have to stop at nothing to get Jessie and himself free from the clutches of Team Rocket once and for all.

            James had to remember just who and what he was fighting for.

            Ritchie was quite erratic, shooting from place to place in the dining hall, talking with this person and the next, a reluctant Erika with him every step of the way.  Even if some (e.g. Lt. Surge, Sabrina) didn't take too kindly to his presence, that did not once deter him.  He would not let his evening with Erika be ruined by someone with a bad attitude and a chip on their shoulder.

            Ritchie and everyone else would have much more important things to deal with than the events of the evening, as the Lord of the Fight tournament would shape up to be something that would change everyone involved forever.

NAME:  Ritchie McManus

STYLE:  Shorinji Kempo, which he claims was taught to him by Genju and Ash Ketchum

DOB:  24 November 1987

HEIGHT:  5'9"

WEIGHT:  158 lbs.

HOBBY:  Pokémon Training

FAVORITE FOOD:  Instant ramen

MOST IMPORTANT:  His Pokémon, especially Sparky

LIKES:  Pokémon, Erika

DISLIKES:  Violent, unruly people


	11. Whipped

POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE

Usual disclaimers apply.  These characters do not belong to me.

And now...let the show begin.

TIME:  That Saturday morning, around 9:30 AM

LOCATION:  Guest suite of Ashura Ketchum, Indigo Plateau

            _Sweet dreams._

            That was the last thing she had said to them the other night.  And for the last few nights after the seemingly uneventful banquet hosted by the League, dreams were anything but sweet.

            Oh, the banquet had been quite lovely.  The food was top-tier – as was to be expected of the League – and the reunion Ash had with Brock, Tracey (and even Ritchie, to everyone's surprise) made the night only that much more enjoyable.  A few gym leaders and Elite he learned were entering the tournament as well.  For the most part, everyone who was participating in the tournament was a guest that night.

            Once the meal had concluded, the 25 fighters (and only the fighters) who are entered in the tournament were ushered into a smaller hall, whose lights were considerably lower than the other hall.  Inside, each of the would-be-combatants were led through a carefully set-up pathway.  The temporary walls of this creation were lined with words, images, and artifacts of the past champions and other famous figures in the World Pokémon League's past.  Memories stirred in the minds of the warriors, some good, some bad, some somewhere in between.  Stunning images of legendary Pokémon beckoned to them.  Battles depicted upon the sprawling walls seemed to question their desires, their motives, their very foundation as a person.  Champions of the past in the wake of their recent championship victories – including the image of Ash hot in the wake of his Orange League victory, much to the surprise of Ash and his crew – seemed to grab at them and peer into their souls as if to say, "Are you ready?  Are you scared?"

            Once the sheep were finished being herded through this maze, they were assembled before Ms. Prima, standing on an elevated platform with a plethora of burning candles surrounding the area where everyone was gathered.  Once she was sure she had everyone's attention, Lorelei spelled out the structure of Lord of the Fight.

            Everyone would fight everyone else participating (provided no withdrawals).

            Each week, usually during the weekend, twelve fights will take place – three during the day, three during the night.  They may take place on Friday & Saturday, Saturday & Sunday, or Friday & Sunday, depending on when they are scheduled to fight.  By this system, each fighter will get one bye week.

            The fights are to be one-on-one encounters.  Victory is achieved when your opponent gives up, taps out, is knocked unconscious, or cannot get up after a 10-count.

            On many occasions, they will have to travel to meet their opponent – and not necessarily to their opponent's home turf.

            If one is not feeling capable of continuing the tournament due to injuries or other personal issues, they are welcome to withdraw from the tournament.

            At the end of the 24th week, the fighters with the top 8 records will be invited to participate in the championship rounds – all will take place in one day, at Indigo Stadium.  These will be single-elimination encounters.  The one who comes out on top will be crowned Lord of the Fight.

            She also informed the combatants that starting this Friday, fights will begin right here in the Indigo Plateau.  In fact, each of the combatants received their own schedules for the tournament before the night's events, and Lorelei's announcement served as a reminder for everyone.

            Once the announcements were made and everything finalized, Ms. Prima dismissed the fighters in her own, unique, very well thought out method.  "I leave you now to your own devices.  Warriors, good luck in the tournament," Prima said.  She had taken a step back, and at once, the candles surrounding them were extinguished simultaneously.  Her sweet, sultry voice called out one last time, seeming to echo off the walls.  "Sweet dreams."  The lights came on, and the doors on the far end of the room – leading out into the main hall – opened before them.

            And Lorelei was gone.

* * * * *

            That night, and for several nights after that, Ash began to have increasingly stranger and stranger dreams.  At first, they were nothing too much out of the ordinary – how things could have been if one decision had been made over another, things related to "scary" video games or movies he's experienced recently, but none were as bizarre as last night's.

            Ash was reliving every last detail of his Pokémon journey, but nothing was going right for him.  He was losing more battles than he ever lost.  Gym leaders – including Brock and Misty – not only defeated him, but also humiliated him worse than he's ever been humiliated in his life.  All the laughing, the taunting, the mockery, it was all swirling around him like a violent sandstorm.  And through all the chaos ensuing in his subconscious, he heard his name calling out to him...

            _Ash...Ash..._

* * * * *

            "Ash, wake up!  Ash!"

            Back in reality, Ash was having quite a bad dream.  Misty saw what started out as light tossing and turning as blatant refusal to get up.  But that wasn't the case.  His thrashing became more violent, and was now accompanied by incoherent gibbering.  Misty, clad only in an undershirt of Ash's she put on shortly after getting out of bed, started to shake Ash, trying to coax him out of his dream state.  She soon was straddling his stomach, shaking him forcefully by his shoulders.

            "Ash!  Ash, snap out of it!  _Ash_!"

            With a startled yelp, Ash sat straight up in bed.  In his delirium, his head slammed into Misty's inadvertently.  Their heads met with a dull _wham!,_ causing both of them to groan loudly and lean to one side.  They both of them to tumble to the floor, entangled in the bed sheets and in one another.

            "Gee Ash," Misty said, suddenly becoming aware of her current situation.  "Don't you think it's a little bit early for that?"

            Groaning, Ash rolled off of his girlfriend, pulling the sheets over his lower half of his body instinctively.  He passed a quick glance over her, noticing she was wearing one of his undershirts – probably one he was wearing sometime yesterday.  He groaned as he pulled himself to his feet, Misty up a second later.  "So what time is it?"

            "It's almost 10 o'clock, Ash," Misty answered, glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand.

            Ash hummed in acknowledgment.  Treading across the bedroom, the sheets now discarded, he headed for the bathroom.  "Well, I'm getting in the shower," he announced, not noticing Misty start to follow.  "I wanna get some breakfast and take in the fight that's happening today."

            "Sounds like fun," Misty added.  As Ash was about to shut the bathroom door, he felt Misty push it aside and wrap her arms around his neck from behind.  "Mind if I join you?"

            "Misty!  Well, look, uh..." Truth be told, he wanted to get all the necessities out of the way as quickly as possible, so he can eat – and knowing how hungry he suddenly became, eat well, he would – and catch the opening fight this afternoon (being a Master and champion of the league, having V.I.P. seating arranged for he and his friends would be no problem; it was the principal of the matter that bothered him).  And he couldn't get that done staring at his girlfriend's nude form mere inches away from him!  But seeing said form in all its beauty captivated Ash, the way it always did.  All form of protest evaporated as she put his lips to his in a deep kiss, her hands wandering over his body.  "Oh, what the hell..."

TIME:  Noon, that day

LOCATION:  Indigo Stadium

            Whilst the other spectators in attendance were captivated by the lavish ceremony signifying the opening of the tournament, the fighters who were watching were more focused on the fight to come itself than the fanfare currently taking place.

            The fight would be fought in the same stadium – on the same field – as the Indigo Championship matches.  The only modification to the field was the large platform built on the stadium itself.  It was a large, elevated stone platform, easily 20 ft. tall, with an extended shelf about halfway up, in an effort to catch fighters who may fall off the edge of the ring.  Metal staircases were built into the sides where the trainers' boxes would be, indicating the corners of the individual fighters.  From Ash & co.'s viewpoint, they were on the same plane as the fighters themselves.

            Ash, Misty, Brock and Tracey were seated in the front row, towards the right side of the field.  From where they were sitting, the battleground was tilted at a 45º angle from the South end.  The humidity mixed with the hot sun made the midday a little less comfortable, and would give the fighters an extra something to worry about.  Severe weather conditions could just as easily deplete a warrior's strength just as easily as the fight they are in.

            They could see down by the trainer's entrance, and spotted an overweight young man around Brock's age, wearing dark black jeans with black shoes.  He wore a red polo shirt with yellow spiked trim around the bottom hem and along the sleeves.  His mussed, shiny green hair was the most noticeable feature about him...aside from the brown leather bullwhip curled and holstered at his left hip.

            Tracey was the first to notice him.  "Check the guy with the whip," he said, pointing down at the mystery fighter.  He was slowly starting his ascent up the metal staircase, which closely resembled a fire escape more than anything else.

            "Who's – that's A.J.!" Misty said, noticing the familiar hairstyle and face.  "What's he doing here?"

            "Competing, what else?" Ash said.  Misty flashed an annoyed glare at her boyfriend.

            "I _know _that," she answered.  "But...I dunno...I didn't see him at the ball the other night.  And...are you allowed to bring a weapon into the ring?"

            "Beats me," Brock said.  "But if he's using the style I think he is, it's gonna be his key to victory."

            Misty had no idea what Brock was talking about.  Seeing the knowing glances coming from Ash and Tracey, Brock figured at least they knew.

            Just as A.J. finished his ascent to the ring, Ash scoured the other end of the ring to see whom the whip-master would be fighting.  The sight of his opponent was just as shocking as the sight of A.J.  "He's fighting Ritchie, huh?" Ash said to himself.  He pointed to the far end of the ring, and saw Ritchie bouncing up and down in place, flexing his arms back behind his back over and over again.  The kid was more full of energy and vigor than they ever recall in the past.  Usually Ritchie was calm, reserved, and calculating.  Now wasn't such a case.

* * * * *

            "...he hails from Cerulean City...LET'S GIVE IT UP FOR ANDREW "A.J." JOHNSON!" the announcer's voice boomed over the PA system.  The crowd popped as if they were issued a direct order from the League president for the young whip-wielding youth.  He smiled as he felt the cameras on him, throwing a solitary gloved fist into the air.  The smile wasn't one of humility, but pride...maybe out of arrogance.  He saw his opponent standing opposite the ring from him, and surveyed him.  A.J. knew he had most of the advantages over this kid – experience, skill, weight...you name it.  In fact, considering the vitals barked out by the announcer, A.J. easily outweighed Ritchie 2-to-1.

            Meanwhile, Ritchie had basked in every word describing him, and every cheer from the crowd.  The energetic young man was still bouncing up and down in place as his opponent was being announced.  Clad in a tight black tank top and baggy green pants (which were tucked into his shoes), Ritchie felt as good as he (thought he) looked.  His chestnut hair spilled out from the back of his head, leaning gently against his shoulders.  He was wearing white leather fingerless gloves, and he was throwing a few punches in the air as A.J.'s introduction concluded.

            Looking through the crowd, he saw Erika, seated a few rows back, in the same part of the arena as his corner.  She gave him a polite wave when their eyes met, and he flashed a peace sign at her as if he were to say, "This'll be no sweat.  Watch!"  The referee beckoned them over, and explained the rules to the two fighters.  After the mandatory handshake, Ritchie and A.J. returned to their starting positions.  "Begin!" the ref shouted.

            Ritchie exhaled deeply and settled into his stance.  A.J.'s eyebrow arched in awe such an...unusual stance.  Ritchie was standing sidelong to A.J., his legs shoulder length apart.  His left hand about two feet in front of him.  His fingers gradually became more curled from thumb to pinkie.  His right arm was curled against his body, his hand looking like it was clutching at his heart.  Shrugging it off, A.J. took a defensive stance, not feeling the need to draw his whip just yet.

            Ritchie exploded forward at A.J., his fist cocked at his side.  When he came within striking distance, it flew out at his opponent, attempting to knock his block off with one blow.  A.J. parried the attack, but got caught by a kick to the stomach and another blow to the face.  Composing himself, A.J. shrugged off the next handful of blows from Ritchie, calmly taking his time, not in a rush to get his offensive rolling.

            Besides, what he didn't want everyone to know is that he's not as good a fighter in close quarters as he is from a distance.

            A.J. bode his time, waiting for an opening.  There!  He blocked a high overhead strike from Ritchie, grabbing his hand and yanking them downward, at the same time, driving his knee upward, nailing his sternum.  Ritchie was doubled over as A.J. smashed an elbow into his back, laying him out face down.  A.J. wasn't finished, as he reached down to grab Ritchie by the back of his shirt and pants, and send him flying across the ring with a good heave.

            Now it was time to get serious.

            Ritchie pulled himself first to one knee, then another, and faced A.J., just as A.J. grabbed at his left side with his right hand.  He noticed A.J. do a complete spin, wielding the weapon that was once previously tied at his side.  "Alright, Whiplash," he said to his weapon, "let's show this punk just what we're made of!"  Before starting his attack, he cut loose with a variety of skillful strikes at the air, and it became abundantly clear that these weren't just random lashes like an animal tamer would use to control unruly Pokémon at the circus, but marks of raw, undeniable skill.

* * * * *

            "Soubenjutsu."

            The strange word Ash uttered made Misty's brow furrow in puzzlement.  "What did you say?" she asked.

            "That's the style that A.J. is using against Ritchie," Brock filled in.  "Soubenjutsu is whip-slashing abilities."  He leaned back in his seat, his hand to his chin.  "And if I'm guessing correctly, that makes A.J. a weapon-whore."

            "What's a weapon-whore?" Tracey asked.  Such a term was unfamiliar to him, but strangely he knew what the name for whip-slashing skills was.

            "That's someone whose fighting style revolves _entirely _around the use of a weapon," Ash answered.  "Be it a staff, sickles, or in A.J.'s case, a whip.  I'm not saying they're all bad or anything, but if he _is _a weapon-whore, Ritchie will have a better chance of winning if A.J. were to suddenly become unarmed."

            "I don't see that happening," Misty said.  "A.J. definitely seems to know what he's doing with that thing."

            "If not, he'd get beat in every fight he was in."

* * * * *

            A.J. was on cruise control now, toying with his opponent with his whip.  He smirked with pride at the accuracy he had placing whiplashes on his bewildered opponent.  Ritchie's guard was upset with every crack of the whip; when Ritchie would block, A.J. would attack what he wasn't guarding.  A.J. was tempted to shout out "Dance!" with each crack of the whip at Ritchie's legs, but seeing Ritchie take tiny, panicky jumps this way and that way was entertaining enough.

            When one such slash made Ritchie's leg shoot backwards behind him like it was blown out of a cannon, A.J. was quick to retaliate his opponent's sudden lack of balance.  He lashed out with his whip hard, striking Ritchie right in the face.  He tumbled to the ground, his moans muffled by his hands, which had covered his face under the force of the blow.  Ritchie brought himself to a kneeling position, a large welt visible on his face.  A.J. lashed out again, but Ritchie tumbled to the side sharply.  When he regained his footing, he felt his right shoe was much more loose on his foot than it had previously been.  Instinctively, he bent down to tie it, when he noticed something odd.  Upon A.J.'s last strike, the laces on his shoe were all broken; the impact of the whip had snapped every strand where the laces crossed one another.

            He had little time to try and correct the problem, for A.J. lashed out again.  This time, when Ritchie blocked, the end of the whip coiled around his forearm, and the combatants found themselves in a brutal tug-of-war, trying to pull the other one in.  Eventually, Ritchie's footing gave way, and he lurched forward, right into a side kick that spun Ritchie halfway around, and flat on his ass.  A.J. bent his whip in half and in half again, and knelt behind Ritchie, the folded up whip under his chin.  He pulled back hard, while burying his knee into the small of Ritchie's back, choking him.  He held this position for a little while, until he started to spin around, still choking Ritchie.  He did several complete spins, building up speed, and finally released him, sending him flying.

            Ritchie was struggling to breathe, but was now quite upset.  A.J. tried to snag Ritchie again, using the same technique, but Ritchie was ready for it.  He spun his arm in a circle to divert the oncoming attack, then spun around, as if to deliver a backhand shot to someone's face.  His hand grabbed the whip, and he yanked back, causing the whip to fly from A.J.'s hand.  Shocked, A.J. looked at his now-empty hand as Ritchie stormed in for his attack.

            "Yaaah!" Ritchie struck the dumbfounded A.J. with a flurry of punches to his upper body, only this time he didn't manage a good enough defense to repel them all.  When A.J. was left reeling from a hard (by Ritchie's standards) uppercut to the chin, Ritchie fell backward sharply – one hand catching his fall, his other high in the air – and cracked his still laced shoe against A.J.'s knee, causing him to fall flat on his back.  Ritchie bounded back a few steps, readying his next big move.

            With a loud grunt, Ritchie jumped up at his opponent, who was now getting back to his feet.  His body did a full rotation in mid-air as he brought his right knee to his stomach, then extended his leg straight against his body.  He took dead aim as he came down, unleashing his move upon the unsuspecting A.J.

            "RITCHIE KIIIIIIIIIIIIIICK!!!"

            Ritchie's aerial axe-kick came down diagonally across A.J.'s chest, knocking him down again.  The crowd was starting to get behind Ritchie by the time A.J. was disarmed, and now a number of them were on their feet as the tide of battle began to sway in his favor.

            He couldn't help but play to the wild masses, working the crowd as some started to chant his name.  Even amongst the chaos around her, Erika couldn't help but shout encouragement at him.  Unfortunately, he became so enthralled with playing the crowd that he didn't notice A.J. pull himself up and regain his weapon.

            He curled up his whip and holstered it against his side, and snuck up on the unsuspecting Ritchie.  He didn't notice his presence behind him until it was too late, when he turned around to check on his foe.  A.J. knelt and punched Ritchie as hard as he could in the stomach, causing him to double over.  As he rose, the top of his head met Ritchie's chin, and Ritchie staggered backwards, holding his now sore jaw.  As he turned around, he walked right into a heavy headlock takedown, all of his weight crashing against his chest.

            Ritchie clutched his chest with a heavy cough, the pain shooting through him suddenly immobilizing him.  A.J. took hold of his enemy's legs, tucking his ankles in his armpits.  Then, he began to spin around again, bringing Ritchie off the ground.  After building up enough speed, he released Ritchie's legs and fell back against the ground, launching Ritchie off the side of the ring.  The crowd gasped in horror as they saw the Celadon kid crash into the protective shelf designed just for such an occasion.

            As he lay there, he saw Ritchie's shoe land next to him.  He looked at the broken laces and smiled, admiring his own handiwork.

            A referee descended a small ladder down to the shelf close to where Ritchie landed.  For arenas like this, a fighter could leave the ring only once before being disqualified on a ring-out.  Slowly, Ritchie got back to his feet, leaning against the side of the ring, his breathing ragged.  He saw the official approach him and did his best to maintain his composure.  "That's one strike for leaving the ring, son," the referee explained.  "Once more and you'll lose the fight."  Ritchie nodded in acknowledgment.  The ref saw his condition and questioned Ritchie once more.  "Do you feel you're able to continue, Mr. McManus?"

            "Yeah, I'm fine," he answered.

            "Do you _want _to continue?"

            "Hell yeah."

            "Fine."  He motioned to the ladder.  "Up you go!"  Ritchie ascended the ladder to find A.J. being directed to back off from an official.  Once Ritchie got a good distance away from the edge, the referee ordered the fight to continue.

            Ritchie got back in his stance.  A.J.'s hand found the handle of his whip.  Both were staring a hole in each other, waiting to see who would blink first.

            That would be Ritchie.

            A.J. suddenly lashed out with his whip, covering the distance between he and Ritchie in the blink of an eye.  The whip made a loud crack as it struck the side of Ritchie's head, right in his left temple.  Ritchie exhaled slightly as he collapsed to his right side on his back.  The crowd was stunned at this attack, and soon the ten count would begin on Ritchie.

            A.J. knew two things – a) the count couldn't be interfered with without restarting from "1", and b) he had this fight won.  He waited until the count hit "4" before giving Ritchie one last shot to grow on.  Without moving from where he was, he brought his whip up over his head and down upon Ritchie with a loud crack.  The whip struck the prone Ritchie right in his chest, causing him to convulse in pain, clutching his chest.  The ref struck him with a warning before restarting the count.  Ritchie tried the best he could to at least get off his back, but could not even get to a knee before the count expired, and gave Ritchie the loss.

            "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS MATCH IS OVER!  THE WINNER BY KNOCK-OUT IS A.J. JOHNSON!!!"

            Ritchie was barely aware of the announcement by the time he saw a figure standing over him.  A.J. looked down at Ritchie with a smug smile, shaking his head slowly.  Ritchie was hurt too much to do anything about his current situation.

            "Stupid little punk," A.J. said in his heavy Southern accent.  "This fight was over the second you took your eyes off me."

            A.J. strode off and made his way down the metal stairs at his corner, disappearing into the locker room with a cocky smile and the first win in the tournament under his wide belt. 

NAME:  Andrew "A.J." Johnson

STYLE:  Soubenjutsu

DOB:  5 May 1980

HEIGHT:  6'1"

WEIGHT:  305 lbs.

HOBBY:  Pokémon training, leadership training

FAVORITE FOOD:  Soup (preferably clam chowder)

MOST IMPORTANT:  His gym, his Sandshrew, his whip

LIKES:  Being in control

DISLIKES:  Weakness


	12. Keep Hope Alive

POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE

Usual disclaimers apply.  These characters do not belong to me.

TIME:  That same day

LOCATION:  Dragon's Lair, Blackthorn City

            "I really can't begin to tell you how glad I am to see you here," James said to his trainer with a sigh.  "After all I've been through it's nice to see at least one other person who still cares..."

            "Bully, my boy!  You can't give up just yet."  James' trainer was a distinguished gentleman who spoke with a thick British accent.  Several times before, he has been a world heavyweight champion.  Granted, he is a stern contender in his division, but the man known as Dudley is more than willing to take a young pugilist under his wing every now and then.

            An African-Anglican [Englishman], Dudley has amassed a great fortune in his lifetime, all through his success in the ring.  He made a name for himself through his power, surprising speed to accompany it, and immaculate in-ring attire.  He's currently wearing something he's most likely seen wearing in the ring – a short-sleeved tuxedo shirt, olive green dress slacks (with a yellow pinstripe down each leg), with matching suspenders and bowtie.  A thin, black mustache adorned his face, curling up at the ends.  "I would've thought that a young lad like yourself wouldn't know the meaning of the word 'quit', James."

            "I don't," James was quick to object.  Dudley had finished taping up James' left hand, and seeing it finished, he held out his other hand to Dudley.  "But...it's hard sometimes.  Considering what I've been going through recently, it's a wonder I still have what little hope I have with me now."

            "Just remember who – and _what _you're fightin' for, Jimmy!" Meowth reassured, clenching his shaking paw.  "Your freedom's on the line...and so is Jessie's!  You don't wanna owe the rest of yer life to Team Rocket, do you?"

            "Obviously not!" James shouted back.  A loud tearing caught his ear.  He saw Dudley pocket the remaining athletic tape and looked at his hands.  "I have to win..." he pounded his one fist into his other palm.  "...no matter what the cost to myself, or to anyone else!"

            "Bloody good, boy.  Now get out there and take back what's yours!"

            With shouts of encouragement coming from his corner-man and -Pokémon, James stepped into the ring.  He cracked his knuckles and started to jump up and down in place as he waited on his opponent.

            The challenger had a steely glare in his brown eyes.  Everything he was currently wearing was one shade of blue or another.  He was dressed in a full deep blue hakama, and had a powder blue jacket overtop of it (though his arms weren't in the sleeves).  Blue forearm bands, trimmed in red, adorned each arm.  Even his blue hair hung down in his face and obscured his right eye.  His belt was neatly tied around his waist, and its markings on one end of the belt define him as a 3rd Dan [3rd Degree, or sensei level] of Tang Soo Do.  His name is embroidered into the opposite end of the belt in yellow letters – Artemis Falkner.

            "Rocket scum," Falkner said – in flawless Korean – as he met James in the center of the ring.

            James' eyebrows furrowed.  "What did you say?" he asked.

            "I remember who you are," Falkner said with a disgusted sneer.  "You and that damned Team Rocket attacked my gym and tried to steal my Pokémon – and the Pokémon of that Ash Ketchum!  And yet you dare show your face in my presence?  You disgust me."

            James was upset by Artemis' words, but in an angry way.  "Well that was then, and this is now," he answered.  "Things change, you know.  Sure, I may have been a proud member of Team Rocket back in the day, but that day has come and gone.  I have a score to settle with the lot of them, and I won't rest until I've won this tournament, I've taken down Team Rocket, and Jessie and I can finally be free!"

            The glare in Falkner's eyes remained, but his lips were pursed in wonder.  Never would he expect such noble words to come from the mouth of a (former) Team Rocket agent.  "I see..." he said quietly.  "I find your cause interesting, but I could never relate to it.  I'll just have to destroy you and bring glory to the Violet City gym."  He pointed at James suddenly.  "So prepare yourself!"

            "Is that it?" James asked, his arms folded.  "You don't have any better reason to fight than for that?  Well I've got news for you, birdbrain!  There are more important things in the world than yourself, and if you fight only for fame and fortune, you're going to be in for a huge disappointment!"

            Once again, Falkner was at a loss for words.  _Maybe he has changed since then, _Falkner thought to himself.  _Perhaps this isn't the same James who attacked my father's gym and endangered – _

            "BEGIN THE MATCH!"

            Artemis was dispelled from his thoughts as the official called for the start of the match.

            The fight was being held in the Blackthorn gym itself, so again, like at Indigo Plateau, you were allowed one time out of the ring before being disqualified.  Unlike the Plateau's ring, though, this wasn't raised above the floor itself.  Everything would be on the level for this fight.

            With a loud kiay, Falkner fell into an offensive stance, while James started off in his boxing stance.  While James was adept in boxing – and in his blue trunks with white trim, the initials JVM embroidered in black letters on a yellow patch dead center on the waste of the trunks – it wasn't the only style of combat he knew.  Aside from ballet, James' parents had him trained in the art as a form of self-defense.  Despite having little regard for their prodigal son, his parents felt sorry for the fact that he would get beat up in school frequently.  James was a natural, his trainers soon discovered, and continued to push him through his training.

            Later on during his education, he signed on to his school's wrestling team and eventually made the varsity squad at the 125 lb. weight class.  He was still a bit of a wimp emotionally, and despite his skill, efforts and dedication, was still chewed out by his teammates.  They were a very disconnected bunch, indeed.  When he was enlisted by Team Rocket, he, like all other cadets, were taught what was called Rocketto Dan assassination techniques.  His skills with previous martial arts forms and learning Rocketto Dan served to compliment one another.  Even though one would never tell considering how much he uses his Pokémon in battles, James is one lethal customer.

            Now is the time for James to prove how lethal he can be.

            When he saw James' boxing stance, Artemis smirked.  Thoughts of the sport of boxing registered in his mind as just that – a sport.  Not something to be taken seriously; what with all its controversy, scandal, the pomp and circumstance and the like.  Immediately, Falkner assumed that by concentrating all his attacks on the lower half of James' body, he could easily beat the defunct Team Rocket member.  If only things were that simple.  

            With that in mind, it was a surprise to Falkner when a number of side, sweep and roundhouse kicks met nothing but air when trying to attack James.  James' quick footwork and dodging guided his nimble frame around the attacks.  He sidestepped another kick that was aimed at his chin, and moved in just as quickly.  James threw a hard left hook, followed by a flurry of right jabs, and finished off the combo with a left uppercut.  Falkner staggered backward, but as James tried to land a haymaker, he dipped down and swept James' legs out from underneath him.

            James quickly kipped up, and for the moment, maintained his boxing stance.  Feeling he could take the Rocket rogue in close combat, Falkner moved in to attack.  How wrong he was.  Again, after blocking a handful of punches, James was quick to retaliate.  He pelted Artemis' torso with heavy punches, and when he felt Falkner's chin just barely graze the back of his head (a body blow won't necessarily knock an opponent out, but it will make their guard slip), James' head shot up, and caught his chin on the back of his head.  Falkner staggered first backward, and then forward, right into a brutal right hook that floored the bird Pokémon master.

            As per the rules of the tournament, a fighter who didn't answer a ten-count when being knocked down would lose.  The referee just managed to get James to back away as he approached the downed Falkner, but by that time he was already on his feet again.  As the official backed off, James was back on the offensive, gliding at the now angry Falkner with his fist cocked back.  Falkner surprised James when he batted away the lunging fist with a crescent kick, and surprised him even more when he slammed his fist right into James' throat.  James was left off-balanced and gasping for breath as Falkner followed up with a series of kicks – a few side kicks to James' face and stomach, followed by a spinning roundhouse, laying out James.

            "Come on, Jimmy!  Get up!" Meowth shouted from the corner.

            "Bloody 'ell, if that ain't gonna work, try something else!"  James pulled himself to his knees as Dudley started shouting.  "Come on, lad!  How many styles do you know?"

            _Of course, _James thought.  He saw Falkner move in as he appeared lost in thought, only to be hoisted above James' shoulders as he stood.  He held him in place for a few moments – his arms clamping down on the back of his neck and the backs of his knees – before pitching sharply to his left side with a hop.  As he landed, the brunt of the impact was dropped upon the back of Falkner's shoulders and upper back.

            Artemis was quick to get back up, ignoring the sudden wailing of pain in his back.  As he regained his bearings, he saw James' stance had shifted.  The rigid, uptight boxer stance was abandoned in favor of a Greco-Roman style wrestling stance.

            "Oh," Falkner said, "I see.  So you're not just another boxer..."

            "Just shut up and throw down, birdbrain!" James shouted in response, beginning to circle his opponent.

            Falkner started to test the waters a bit with this new fighting style James was trying to use.  He faked a few kicks, but for the most part, James wasn't biting.  James wasn't about to let a deadlock fall between the two of them, but at the same time he didn't want to run face first into the sole of this guy's foot.  So to take the offensive, he sought an alternate route.

            Getting a slight running start, James jumped over Falkner, putting himself behind his opponent and for a slight moment, Falkner's back was to him.  James hauled ass as his foe turned around, and he plowed over him, taking him down with a headlock.  As he held on to the hold, James instinctively settled back, pressing everything from the shoulders up on Falkner against the ring, partially waiting for the referee to call a pin fall victory over the opponent.  But this wasn't a wrestling match.

            If he held on long enough, he _could _get Falkner to tap out, and _then _he'd win the fight.  Ha.  James should be that lucky to win a fight so easily.  He managed to hold on as long as he could, until Artemis' leg snapped up, the arch of his foot slamming into the bridge of James' nose.  James rolled off at the sudden pain, clutching his nose.  Falkner was the first to recover, and kicked James hard in the ribs.  He waited for James to get up, and took the opening he had been waiting for.  As James stood, he rained all hell on the would-be nobleman, assaulting his body first with a flurry of punches, before slapping his head around with several impressive kicks.  James was taken aback by the assault, and was down for about a count of 6 before he resumed fighting.

            "Face it, rocket garbage," Falkner spat, "you just can't win."  James settled into a sidelong stance.  As Falkner spoke, he was silently calculating how he would take down the bird master.  He didn't want to resort to using some of his Rocketto Dan techniques, but the situation was looking rather bleak.

            While it may sound impressive, Rocketto Dan is quite simple compared to other styles of fighting.  It combines basic techniques taken from several forms of martial arts, as well as street fighting.  A Rocket agent studying under this style knows how to attack the body's many pressure points.  They also know how to attack the vitals on the body, inflicting about ten times as much damage as the force they put behind each blow.

            The more Falkner looked down his nose at him, the less remorse he would feel for using some of these techniques.

            "Where's your valor now, rocket?" Falkner continued.  "For all the righteousness you speak of, you certainly don't have as entirely too much to back it up, do you?"

            _Back _this_ up._

            With a growl of anger, James rushed forward, his eyes locked onto a single spot right on the tip of Artemis' nose.  Falkner saw this as a blind rush, and figured this anger-induced rush would be simple to deal with.  James' moved his head just out of the way enough to dodge a backhand punch from Falkner.  His hand shot out at the exposed hand before Falkner could draw it back, and the tips of James' index finger and thumb pushed into a certain spot on Falkner's wrist.  For just a brief moment, Falkner's eyes shot wide and his head tipped back as he wailed in pain; his entire arm felt like it was being electrocuted.  This temporary pause in Falkner's participation in this fight was all James would need.  In one instant, he stepped in, slamming a wrestling shoe-clad foot down on his left instep, while at the same time, driving his exposed palm into his nose with about as much force as a sledgehammer.  Falkner staggered backward sharply, dizzy, hurting, blood starting to pour from both nostrils.

            He was still standing.  James would fix that.

            "Time for me to finish this," James said to himself, settling back into his boxing stance.  His fist was drawn back, and he tensed up, trying to focus as much of his energy as possible into his fist.  His teeth ground against one another and his hand started to hurt as he waited for his moment – the perfect moment after the birdbrain stopped staggering and faced him.

            There!  
  
            "You asked for it!" James shouted.  "Mortal attack!  ROCKET FIST!!!"  Like earlier, James shot towards Falkner, fist ready to fire right through his face.

            As James plowed forward, his entire armed burned with his strength.  In his mind, he pictured an aura around his arm glowing like a piece of debris falling to Earth and burning up in the atmosphere.  Regardless of what he envisioned his attack to look like, it still had the same effect.  James' fist slammed into Falkner's face with all his might.  Falkner was blown backward a good ten yards from the impact, and rolled about five more.  The referee checked Falkner once his body came to a stop, and when he found him unconscious, did not bother to count.

            "Artemis Falkner is unable to battle!  The winner of the match is James von Malice!"

            The small crowd on hand popped in approval as the Team Rocket renegade emerged victorious.  His corner crew greeted him as he walked over to them, all pleased with his performance.

            "Good show, von Malice," Dudley said, shaking his hand.  "You've got a true warrior spirit in ya, boy."

            "You got this tournament in da bag, Jimmy!" Meowth said.  "As long as ya don't forget what yer fighting for, you can't lose!"

            Never before had James taken anything from any member of Team Rocket so dearly, so closely to heart.  He couldn't forget whom he was fighting for.  It wasn't just for himself, but for Jessie as well.  The freedom of both of them.  That was exactly the reason he was in this tournament.  As long as he kept that in mind, there was nothing that could stand in his way.  He had to fight on, for both his sake and Jessie's.

            He has to keep hope alive.

NAME:  Artemis Falkner

STYLE:  Tang Soo Do

DOB:  11 November 1980

HEIGHT:  5'5"

WEIGHT:  148 lbs.

HOBBY:  Aeronautical activities

FAVORITE FOOD:  Sushi

MOST IMPORTANT:  His bird Pokémon

LIKES:  Flying, bird Pokémon

DISLIKES:  People who insult Flying-types; air pollution


	13. Going on Safari

POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE

For those of you upset over the curious lack of updates, let me take this time to set the record straight.  I have not abandoned any of my works.  Instead, when Dec. 1st rolled around, I had decided right then and there that my Christmas special would come first.  Now that that story has concluded, I can get back on track with my other works.  Thanks for your patience and your support.

Usual disclaimers apply.  These characters do not belong to me.

By the way, thanks a lot to the Capoeira Corner for all the info on this fighting style.  Check out their website…

http://www.wu-wien.ac.at/usr/h96b/h9650297/capoeira.html

TIME:  The next Sunday

LOCATION:  Safari Zone

            Barely one week into the tournament, the Lord of the Fight was garnering worldwide attention and admiration.  The twenty-five contestants – all respected icons in the Pokémon industry – were quickly becoming the talk of the town…the whole world, rather.  Twelve matches were held during the first weekend, and twelve combatants walked away with their first victory.  One was given a bye and did not have to fight—Ashura.

            Instead, he spent the better part of the weekend traveling around with his friends and cheering them on during their fights.  Brock and Tracey walked away with victories during week 1, but Misty did not, as she lost a tough battle to – surprisingly – Jessie, formerly of Team Rocket.  It wasn't the fact that Misty lost that made Ash and his friends curious; it was her more intense attitude that admittedly, she only showed when trying to capture Pikachu or any other rare and/or powerful Pokémon.  She didn't give a reason as to why she was acting the way she was, and when they pursued her for her motives, she simply blew them off.

            Oh well, no sense in dwelling on it.  Ash was sure he would find out Jessie's motives in due time.  Until then, they simply had to take the tournament one fight at a time.

            Today they found themselves deep within the vast Safari Zone, known the world over for its vast numbers of free-range Pokémon.  Dozens of species and thousands of individual Pokémon lived in peace.  Trainers would visit the zone in the hopes of snagging one of these Pokémon for themselves.  These people would come in occasionally, but for the most part, the Pokémon lived in peace.

            Today, however, wasn't about catching Pokémon.  It was about the Lord of the Fight tournament.

            The sky was partly cloudy, and the sun periodically poked out behind the clouds.  Ash, Misty, Brock and Tracey were being led through the Zone by Lorelei Prima, the supervisor for this particular fight.  As warm as it was outside, the five didn't feel too much of it, as they spent the better part of the trip walking through shaded areas.  Tracey was there to fight, and while Ash, Misty and Brock made light conversation, Tracey seemed to have zoned out.  He wasn't paying attention to the conversation, and at times was walking with his eyes closed, deeply lost in thought.

            Last week he fought a tough opponent in Solomon Blaine, who made Tracey's life miserable with his unforeseen mastery of Drunken Fist.  The old man, who was nearing his 70s, had a great deal of experience on his side, but through nothing short of a miracle, Tracey managed to pull off a hard-fought victory.  If nothing else, the fighters made the match most entertaining—Blaine's Drunken Fist up against Tracey's Capoeira made for a very strange and wondrous spectacle.

            By trade, Tracey Sketcher is an Angoleiro—a practitioner of the Angola style of Capoeira.  But if he were to say his style was pure Angolan Capoeira, it would be a bit of a lie.  True, Angolan is the foundation of his form, though it's not the sole basis for how he fights.  His is a style that has mixed in Regional Capoeira, break-dancing and modern hip-hop dance moves.  What made Tracey so dangerous – though he never liked to use that word to describe himself – was that he was able to flow from one variant of attacks to another seamlessly and make it look like a magnificent display in the process.

            Though not too many people knew it, Tracey loved dancing just as much as he did drawing.

            "Yo Tracey!" Ash called.  Tracey's eyes snapped open, "you still with us or what?"

            "Yeah, you've got another match in a few minutes and you haven't said a word!" Misty added.

            "Sorry if I seem so quiet," Tracey answered, "but I'm trying to focus on my match coming up."  He sighed.  "I nearly ate it last week and I don't want to make any of the same mistakes I made last week."

            "I gathered as much," Brock added.  "Usually when I train, I'm the same way.  There's nothing wrong with wanting to stay focused, you know?"

            "I just don't want to be bothered by any distractions," Tracey continued.  "I also hope my opponent shows up and doesn't forfeit the match.  That'll really get to me."  He looked over to Prima.  "Where _is _my opponent, anyway?" he asked.

            "She's waiting for you at the ring," Prima said flatly.  We'll be there shortly, Sketcher."

            Tracey's ears pricked at Prima's explanation.  _She?_

            As they walked on, a clearing became visible.  The ring was a crudely roped off parcel of land that was a few meters higher on the near end than the far end.  As a result, the slope in the middle of the ring made it look like the ring was made on a hill.  Whether or not this was intentional or a blunder on the designer's part remained to be seen.  As it stood, this new feature could add a new dimension to the fight that was going to take place.  Tracey stepped up his pace as he saw the ring, his intention to get warmed up before his opponent showed up.  Already, he started to put a little more bounce in his step as he approached.  A few more trees dotted the path to the ring, but everyone passed them off as simple pieces of the background.  That is, until…

            "HI!!!"

            Ash, Brock, Misty and Tracey jumped back in surprise as a stranger suddenly appeared before Tracey.  Her blue hair and familiar face surprised all but the latter…

            "Duplica?"  Ash asked.  She was hanging upside down on a tree limb by the backs of her legs, directly in their path.  Her enthusiastic nodding gave him his answer.

            "Yep!" she said.  "Surprised to see me?  I knew you would!"

            Before another word could be spoken, she bent herself at the waist and dislodged from the tree, dropping to the ground to a kneeling position.  Her back was to the rest of the crew until she stood, turned and faced them.  Ash, Misty, Brock and Tracey got a good look at this girl.

            Ash, Brock & Misty had not seen Duplica since Ash won the Johto League championship and became a Pokémon Master.  That was when they were 15, 16 and 18 respectively…three years ago.  A lot can change in a relatively short time.  Just as Ash and his friends grown, matured, changed, so did Duplica.  While she could've then been described as tomboyish, now she can be best described as _on fire._  Today, she was dressed for battle, and apparently a lot more than just that.  Her hair was in the same style she always wore, it, though a bit longer and a lighter shade of blue.  She was dressed in a black halter-top that was stretched tight around her chest and showed off most of her trim stomach, complete with heart tattoo around her navel.  Black jeans hugged her every curve on her legs and hips, and she wore black, open-toe shoes on her feet (her toenails painted the same shade of blue as her hair).  She stood with her hands on her hips as she waited for a response.  

            "So, how's everyone doing?" she asked.  This didn't sound like the voice of someone who came to fight.  Duplica appeared to be taking this battle way less seriously than it should be taken.  However, remembering the standings from last week, she _did _win her battle the week before.  Could this be a front, perhaps?  She tilted her head to the side, her hands behind her back, leaning forward a bit.  "Huh?"

            Misty was going to speak, but the trio of dumbfounded faces from Brock Ash, and Tracey (standing right to left in that order) distracted her.  Their mouths were hanging open, their eyes wide as saucers.  They weren't blinking, weren't moving.

            "Daaaaaaaaaaaamn…" they all groaned lowly, taking in the sight of the luscious Duplica.  They were completely speechless.

            They would've remained in their entranced state permanently if it hadn't been for some quick thinking from Misty.  Before anyone realized what was going on, Misty was standing over top the young men—left foot on Tracey's head, right foot on Brock's, her mallet drawn and ready to strike.  The boys muttered a collective 'Huh?' just moments before Misty buried the mallet.  She swung with all her might, and her mallet found home.  The mallet nearly crushed Brock's head, which slammed into Ash's head, which slammed into Tracey's head, whose entire body was checked into a tree.  This happened in the span of a split-second.  All three young men collapsed.

            "I'm sorry about that," Misty said, returning her mallet and walking over to Duplica.  "They can be quite a pain sometimes, can't they?"

            Duplica nodded politely.  "So, I hear you and Ash have been together for a while."

            "Yeah, aren't you surprised?"  Misty couldn't help but smile.  Ash had been really good to her as far as their relationship went.  There was no doubting that in her mind.

            "Well, not entirely.  Although…" She leaned over to Misty so that only they would hear Duplica.  "I wanted him for myself!" Duplica couldn't help but laugh a bit, which brought Misty to laughter as well.

            The collective groans of the young men Misty traveled with to today's match drew the girls out of their laughter.  One by one, they eventually dragged themselves up to their feet.  Their heads were sore, as a mallet-induced concussion can bring someone quite a lot of pain.  Ash, Brock and Tracey were all rubbing their heads agitatedly as the sharp agony quickly faded.  Tracey was the first to speak, as he took the lightest hit from Misty's cascading mallet attack, despite his body slamming into a tree.

            "You must be Tracey, correct?" Duplica asked, looking over the young Capoeirista before her.  "Hi, I'm Duplica!" She stuck out her hand for him to shake.  "Nice to meet you!"

            "Hey," he said, still a bit dizzy from his recent trauma.  "I'm Tracey Sketcher.  Nice to meet you."  She shook his hand, and after a bit of coaxing from Lorelei, stepped out into the clearing where the ring was, and where the fight would take place.

            "The three of you, stay by me," she said, commanding Ash, Brock and Misty to stay back as Duplica and Tracey entered the ring.  The official went over the ground rules with the two of them, but didn't dwell on them for too long.  While Duplica stretched herself out, Tracey kicked off his sandals before going into his complex pre-fight warm-up ritual.

            Normally he would have his entire company with him as they went into the Roda [all Capoeiristas would walk around the two players as the game went on] and the music of the Berimbau played, setting the stage for the game.  He had backup, however, in the form of a CD of traditional Capoeira music, which almost never seemed to leave the CD player attached to his hip.  Powerful headphones ran from the Walkman to his head, and were pumping the rhythmic music directly into his head.  It didn't effect how he fought if he had music or not.  During his tenure with the Orange Island Capoeira Company, he had trained with live music (formal meetings with the company), personal music and without it.  So regardless of the settings, Tracey was good to go.

            "Come on, baby!" Duplica shouted, standing in a left leg-lead stance, her right hand on her hip.  "Let's see what you've got!"

            Not acknowledging the taunt – or not even hearing it, actually – Tracey was pacing around his opponent as if he were in the Roda getting ready to play the game.  The CD was playing the intro to the first track, the clapping preceding the music.  As the singing started, Tracey suddenly snapped into a pose, his body arched back, his knees bent, on his toes, his hands clenched in fists and his arms thrown out to the side.  This was accompanied by a loud shout of "IEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" after which Tracey fell into the smooth rhythm of the Capoeira ginga [stance; most basic movement of Capoeira].

            Duplica maintained her distance for the most part as Tracey assumed his ginga.  Never before had she even heard of Capoeira, let alone what anyone was capable of in that style.  Right away, this strange dance-like pattern her opponent was displaying was throwing her off guard.  Regardless of how taken aback she was, she wasn't about to simply give up.  She came to win, and even if this guy _was _pretty nice – (_not to mention to _die _for, _Duplica thought) – she wouldn't give this guy any breaks.  Now was not the time for trying to hook up; now was the time to win!

            Tracey was less apprehensive about his opponent than Duplica, but he was careful nonetheless.  He didn't know what to expect from this woman, but he wasn't going to take any unnecessary chances.  If he let his guard down for even a second, it could be disastrous.

            He covered the distance between her and himself quickly, and decided to try one of his simpler moves.  As he contemplated his opening attack, Duplica's back leg snapped up at Tracey's head, just as he ducked down as he were setting up for a headstand.  He instead rolled quickly back to his feet, the heel smacking into Duplica's face.  Tracey was on his feet for but half a second before he whipped his legs out in front of him in a textbook flare, taking Duplica off her feet.  As Duplica returned to her feet, she and Tracey exchanged several punches.  The last one from Duplica was countered when Tracey caught it and rolled backward, flinging Duplica a few yards away from him.

            As Duplica rose again, Tracey kneeled, anticipating the next move.  The way he was positioned, it looked like he was in the middle of getting up from Indian style.  She rushed forward, covering the distance between the two of them surprisingly quickly.  While Tracey seemed to be unable to do anything except sit there and defend himself, he quickly blew everyone's expectations away.

             "SMILE OF DAWN!" he shouted as he performed his move.  In a flash, he leaped up, his legs extended in a spectacular back flip.  The side of his left foot slammed into Duplica's chin as he jumped about ten feet straight up, landing again on his feet.  Duplica stumbled backward, and lost her footing on the small slope that the ring possessed.  She came down hard on her shoulder, and, rubbing her shoulder, got herself back on her feet.

            Duplica felt that now was not the time to be on the defensive.  If she kept taking shots like this without dishing anything back out would ultimately end in her defeat.  As Tracey "danced" (to her, anyway) over to her, she brought her knee up to make it look like she would kick Tracey in the face.  Tracey was quick to bite on this ploy, and just as quickly went into a cartwheel and to a handstand.  His feet were drawn up to kick Duplica repeatedly, but Duplica was the one in control.

            Duplica snapped her chambered leg out and smacked Tracey right upside his head (which was upside down and pretty close to the ground).  Tracey froze, and with the combination of blood rushing to his head and the impact of Duplica's foot against his head, froze in his attack.  Duplica stomped on Tracey's left hand, but was slightly derailed when he simply balanced on his other hand.  With that, she simply threw a handful of punches at his exposed midsection followed by a hard knee, knocking him over.

            _Wow, _Duplica thought, _this guy's got a pretty tight stomach.  _His shirt had bunched up around his chest as she got punched in the stomach, so she got a good lock at what she saw as abs that someone could grate cheese on.  He quickly fixed his attire and got back into his stance.

            They were both back on the attack again, closing the distance between themselves in a blink.  Tracey hopped onto one hand and attempted to take Duplica's head off with a spinning kick.  She elbowed him in the stomach as he did, and Tracey rolled over her arm and landed on his feet, one arm on his stomach.  As she did, she launched into a spectacular assault on the Capoeirista from the Orange Islands.

            She gently pushed Tracey to put just a little bit of space between the two of them.  As Tracey staggered back a step, she went on the attack.  Duplica cut loose with a dazzling display of kicks and punches at Tracey, who was caught completely off guard.  He was being bounced around by the assault, the final roundhouse kick spinning him around 180 degrees.  As he turned around to face his foe, Duplica had jumped up at him.  She came down around him, scissoring his head as he did.  Her thighs were clamped around Tracey's head, with her adversary's face buried between her legs.  Only everything above his nose was visible to Duplica, his eyes as wide as dinner plates as he looked up at her.  His hands instinctively came up to her thighs as he attempted to maintain his balance.  Duplica smirked at Tracey.

            "Oooo…" she crooned as she looked down at him.  "Keep it coming, boy."  With one quick motion, she snapped her body out, and for just a brief moment, the scene was repeated, with Duplica in the same position but upside down and Tracey was upside down with his head still between her legs.  Just as quickly, Tracey's head was slammed into the hard ground.  He lay on the ground dizzy and not moving for a few moments.

            "Wow," Brock said, taking in the scene he just witnessed.  He couldn't help but chuckle at the predicament Tracey was in.  Even Ash and Misty were speechless at Duplica's…tactics.

            "I don't know how to feel about what happened to Tracey just there," Ash mused.  "Hard to say if I'd want to be Tracey just then or not."

            "And that's supposed to mean _what, _Ash?" Misty asked, glaring at him.  Ash broke out in a panicked sweat as Misty looked at him, chuckling nervously.  He didn't know how he was going to handle this one.

            "Let me guess…you won't be doing that anymore, I take it?" Brock asked smartly.

            "Shut…_up…_" Ash grumbled, growling at him.

            The referee's count was up to three as Tracey brought his body to a sitting position.  He rubbed his head agitatedly as he mentally assessed the situation.  He just got knocked down, and was losing this battle.  Sure, he had a number of successful attacks, but the fact that he was the one who was being counted down made everything else seem for naught.  He pulled himself back to his feet and after getting the okay from the official, got back into his ginga and continued the fight.

            Straying from his Capoeira for just a while, he delved into his hip-hop dance repertoire.  As Duplica came in to attack his face, Tracey immediately went down into a flare, knocking her off balance again.  He began to blend Capoeira and street dancing as he rolled forward onto his hands and began pummeling her midsection with piston-like kicks.  As Duplica staggered backward, he flipped back up to his feet, and caught her with a wide spinning side kick to the side of her head in the process.  As Tracey was getting into his groove, he began singing along to the Berimbau playing on his CD player—which was in Portuguese.  She rolled backwards to get back on her feet, and caught Tracey coming in with a nice hip toss.  As Tracey landed, he heard the music stopped and the clattering of his CD player as it came off his belt and fell apart, cluttering to the ground in several pieces.

            "Hey!  My music!" Tracey shouted, noticing his player in three pieces (lid, base, and disc).  "Oh well," he grumbled, discarding his headphones.  "Looks like I should just end this."

            In the meantime, Duplica took a few steps back as Tracey flopped against the ground.  Being slapped around by Tracey's admittedly _amazing _dance techniques was not helping her morale too much, but she did have to give him credit where due.  He was giving her all he could muster (she assumed), which she answered with her own.  Duplica also knew that if she hesitated now, Tracey wouldn't.  It was time to put this to an end.

            _I think it's about time Tracey saw my strongest move, _she thought inwardly.  _Imitation's the finest form of flattery, eh?  Wonder how he'll feel about this.  _She relaxed, closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.  Her arms were crossed over her chest as she bowed her head.  Right now, her only regret was that she didn't practice this technique more often.  She began to float a few inches off the ground and glow with a soft, white light.

            Tracey spun around quickly as he got to his feet, and saw Duplica in the middle of some sort of transformation…of sorts.  He didn't know what to think of this bizarre ritual the mimicry-obsessed young lady was planning, but judging by the glow she was giving off, the only word that registered in Tracey's mind was "bad".

            _This is bad, this is bad, this is bad, this is bad, _Tracey shouted to himself in his mind.  **_Bad, _**_bad, bad, bad, bad, bad, **bad**!  _If it were anyone else, they probably would've run in the opposite direction of this move, but Tracey wasn't thinking like that.  He felt the best way to put a stop to this was to take it out before it took him out.

            As Duplica began to glow more brightly, Tracey closed the distance between them and prepared to finish this battle.  What he didn't know was that this move Duplica was trying left her highly vulnerable and her defenses in the toilet.  She knew this when she went into this routine, but that was a chance she had to take.

            Tracey pitched forward as he stopped running, making it look like he fell over.  But Tracey knew exactly what he was doing.  He landed on one hand, his legs stiff as boards with his lower leg (in this case, the right) bent at a 90-degree angle.  As he landed, he shouted something in Portuguese as he went into a rapid spin, his hand as the axis of his wild spinning.

            Duplica was immediately brought out of her trance as she found herself being batted around by her opponent.  What it looked like in slow motion was a weird tennis match; when she hit Tracey on one side, she seemed to bounce over and land just at the right time for Tracey to swing over and bounce her to the other side.  Duplica was struck about nine times in this fashion; on the ninth time, her body was flung out of the ring, where she landed hard, dizzy, and badly beaten.

            Tracey finished in a crouch as he watched Duplica get laid out outside the ring, where the referee counted her out.

            "This match is over!" the referee declared, walking over to Tracey as he did.  "The winner of the fight—Tracey Sketcher!"

            Tracey raised his other arm as the ref raised his, to the sound of applause and shouts of congratulations from his companions.  

            All of the worry and apprehension was long gone as he walked away from the fight.  Before going to his corner crew, he walked over to the fallen Duplica, who was rubbing her head and on her knees.  He stuck out his hand to her.  "Hey," he told her, "that was a great fight you put up."  She looked up at him, and eventually took his hand.  "You should be proud of yourself."

            "Thanks a lot," she said with a smile, "you're a pretty tough guy yourself."

            The two of them walked away from the dueling grounds, back over to Ash, Brock and Misty.  Even the toughest fighters inside the ring can be companions outside the ring. 

NAME:  Duplica Imite

STYLE:  No single style, mostly dance and speed based attacks

DOB:  11 November 1980

HEIGHT:  5'5"

WEIGHT:  126 lbs.

HOBBY:  Acting, dancing

FAVORITE FOOD:  Surf & turf

MOST IMPORTANT:  Her Dittos

LIKES:  Dancing, costume designing

DISLIKES:  Unkempt, dirty people


	14. The Battle of Pallet Town

POKÉMON:  WARRIOR'S DESIRE

What's up, people?  I've been away for a while, but I'm back now.  I can't promise my fan fiction will be on a "regular" schedule, but I'll try my best to bring you all that I can.  I thank you for your support, as always.

Usual disclaimers apply.  These characters don't belong to me.

TIME:  That Saturday

LOCATION:  Pallet Town YMCA

            Down in the locker rooms of the local Pallet Town Youth Men's Christian Association, a young man was diligently preparing himself for today's battle in the Lord of the Fight tournament.  Within twenty minutes, he would be up in the basketball court, battling his second fight in the tournament.

            Lord of the Fight had been going on for three weeks now, and Ash's first week bye (which was not his decision, by the way) meant that he would always be involved in a battle provided no one backed out or forfeited ahead of time.  That didn't bother Ash very much.  He was beginning to cause quite a sensation so far, and was only a handful of fighters who still were undefeated.

            As the crowds were gathering up in the main gym, Ash was gearing himself up for battle.  He brought his full gi with him, as he usually does when he goes to tournaments, but considering how hot and stuffy the gym could be on a day like this, decided against wearing his gi top up there and wore a black, sleeveless mesh shirt instead.  His gi pants were black and a little long on him, and were cuffed at his feet.  His hair was getting long, but instead of having it cut to something more common or "proper" for a boy his age, he simply tied it back with a rubber band, the end result being a little duck tail hanging off the back of his head.  He wore cheap leather sandals, but that was only to and from the ring; he trained and sparred barefoot, as does your typical martial arts student.  He wore fingerless gloves, black, like the rest of his uniform.  The obi (belt) was the most important and most prized part of his uniform.

            The day he received his black belt was the greatest day of his life aside from a) the day he became a Pokémon Master and 2) the first night he spent together with Misty.  The belt was jet black, and on one end his name was embroidered in yellow in both English and Japanese.  On the other end were two red hash marks, signifying Ash's status as a second-degree black belt.  Any time he dressed for practice or for an event like this (where he knew he would be wearing his obi) he always took his precious time with that sacred strip of material, always watching himself in the mirror as he carefully and meticulously tied it perfectly around his waist.  It was a delicate practice to him, and that black belt was the crowning achievement of years of hard work and dedication.

            Just like with his Pokémon journey.

            Unlike his martial arts training, Ash didn't have any fancy belt to prove himself.  Instead, he had a reputation and the battles waged at the Johto League competition to prove himself to the world.  Ash's hard work and dedication were his best traits, and he joyously reaped the fruits of his labor.

            He gave his reflection in the mirror a good look over.  Ash adjusted how his belt sat on his waist several times before deciding it was perfect.  He looked down at his hands, staring at them in puzzlement.  Through his training, he discovered that he had the ability to manipulate and expel his ki into forms of electricity (thanks a lot in of part to the massive amounts of electric residue left on his body from the countless times Pikachu shocked him).  He channeled just a little bit of it through his left arm, and as he watched the sparks dance across his fingertips, pondered if he should use it in his battle today. Only time would tell if he had to or not.

            Ash looked at the clock on the wall.  In about five minutes, the match would start.  After getting himself good and stretched out, he slipped on his sandals and exited the locker room, en route to the gym upstairs.  One of the volunteers at the Y led Ash to the entrance to the gym, and just as Ash was going to enter, his attention was drawn to a young man a bit older than him and a bit taller.  He wore blue jeans, and a long-sleeved powder blue shirt with a large yellow stripe across the stomach and elbows.  He wore a bright blue headband that allowed for his long blond hair to spill out the back and rest on his shoulders.  He was giving Ash a hard look as he toyed with a strand of Buddhist meditation beats hanging around his neck.

            "Good luck out there, Ash," the kid said.  Ash recognized him immediately as Mortimer Grey, the Ecruteak City gym leader.

            "You've come all the way out here just to cheer me on, huh?" Ash chuckled.  "To what do I owe the honor?"  
  


            "Nothing, really.  While I will be cheering for you – simply because your opponent is an absolute prick…"

            "Tell me about it."

            "…but need I remind you that you and I will do battle next week.  Think of this as me scouting you."

            "Sure thing."  Ash left on that note, but not before poking his head out of the doors at Morty.  "And don't worry about me.  I'll be ready for next week…I just hope you will be as well!"

            Morty said nothing, just nodded.  He went to his seat in the stands, toying with his beads.

            The Pallet Town Y was fairly new, built in the late 1980s, but considering it only served Pallet Valley and the small surrounding area, it wasn't incredibly too big.  Still, it had very adequate facilities for swimming, basketball and other indoor events, and numerous outdoor activities such as soccer and baseball.  In another wing of the Y was the rooms set aside for travelers and passers-through, even if they saw comparatively little use when stacked against the average Pokémon center.

            The main gymnasium was properly set up for today's battle between two of Pallet Town's favorite sons.  The basketball nets have all been retracted, pulled almost parallel with the ceiling.  The bleachers on the walls going down the sidelines has been pulled out, making twelve neat rows of seats for the spectators.  At where center court would normally be, a set of wrestling mats were rolled out and set up, taped together to keep them from sliding apart.  A decent sized crowd was gathering in the stands as Ash entered, while his opponent was in his corner, not taking this match too seriously, it seemed.

            Across the ring from Ash was his rival, dare one say…nemesis, Gary Oak.  He paced back and forth in his corner, flexing out his arms and occasionally rolling his neck.  His trademark smirk was practically glued to his face, and was showing Ash not an iota of respect.

            Out in the stands, a few rows from the front were Misty, Brock and Tracey.  They had come to watch Ash's battle just as when Tracey battled.  The crowds ranged in size, from a handful of onlookers to a packed stadium.  This one was somewhere in the middle.  In addition to Ash's "posse" were Mrs. Ketchum and Professor Oak; both would be watching their first battle in Lord of the Fight.  Even though he was Gary's grandfather, his attitude and recent falling out with his grandson were making him sway in Ash's favor.

            "I must say I'm not very pleased with Gary's attitude," the professor started.  "Ever since he found out he's battling Ash, he's become even more arrogant than normal."

            "Tell me about it," Brock continued.  "And we all know how big of a rivalry these two have…there's no telling just what he may do when he gets to fight Ash man-to-man."

            "But…what do we know about Gary's fighting abilities?" Misty asked.  "If any…I mean, that uniform he's wearing…what is that, a Tae Kwan Do outfit?"

            "Indeed," Tracey answered.  "That's all we know about him, though.  Guess we'll just have to wait like everyone else."

            Gary strode cockily back and forth in his corner, not a care in the world.

            In the opposite corner, on the other hand, things were a different story.  Ash was busy stretching himself out on the sidelines, bouncing occasionally with each exercise.  He was very thorough about his elaborate stretching routine, especially after throwing a crescent kick that tore one of his quads a while back.  The pain was not too pleasant, as it hurt to even walk.  So he made sure to take steps so that wouldn't happen again.  In his corner was his master Genju, the old 8th dan in Kenpo that taught 2nd dan Ash all he knew.  He was in his late 60s, with hard, narrow eyes and a once-black goatee that had grayed quickly over the years, as did his hair.  He was very strict, and has he told his students once, he "was a prick, but honest."  Which was good; Ash didn't want anything less from a teacher.

            "Ashura," the old man called.  Ash pulled off his gloves as he approached the master.  The old man was seated in a metal folding chair, a basin at his feet.  Ash kneeled, and quietly washed his hands and face in the room-temperature water.  Once he did this, he put back on his gloves and stood back up.  This pre-fight ritual was meant as a symbolic cleansing of the mind and the soul, keeping the fighter free of distractions and negative feelings.  "Even though the young man is a fool, don't underestimate him for a second."

            "Yes, master," Ash responded.  "I've known him for a good part of my life.  He's very egotistical—"

            Genju put up his hand and silenced the youth.  "Even if that is true," he continued, "do not underestimate him, or you will end up no better than he."

            "I understand."  He approached the ring, and just before he entered, turned and bowed to his mater, who returned the gesture.  He approached center ring just as the announcer was going through his spiel.  It was during this time he got a good look at his old rival.

            It was awfully hard for Ash to keep a straight face or go off on Gary considering the way he looked.  A younger Ash Ketchum may have done exactly that, but not this older, debatably more mature Ash.  Gary's trademark smirk and cocky attitude were apparent just in the way he stood.  Instead of standing in the junbei or "ready" position (stand up straight, feet shoulder width apart, fists clenched and held out about a foot away from the body at obi level), Gary was bouncing up and down, swaying from side to side occasionally, never once taking his eyes off of Ash, who simply followed occasionally with his own.  His outfit was a short-sleeved V-neck Tae Kwan Do gi top, deep blue with yellow trim.  The pants were the same shade of blue, but the right leg (from his groin down) was stark white and bore a red, yellow and blue Taegeuk around the shin.  The gi was a bit of an eyesore; the clashing colors seemed to fit Gary's irritating demeanor, however.  On his feet he wore blue foot pads – which, in very broad terms, looked like a sock with the sole cut out save for one strap – in the same color scheme as the top.  It didn't bother Ash the way Gary was being disrespectful; he was okay with that, by comparison.  The thing that grated Ash the most was what Gary wore around his waist—a black belt.

            This did not compute.  _You're kidding, _Ash thought, looking at Gary's obi.  _There's no way that can be legit.  _Somehow, this really got under Ash's skin, worse than any snide remark or grating insult.  As long as he knew Gary, he knew for a fact he didn't practice any martial arts.  The Pokémon world was always Gary's top priority.  He got a tip from Professor Oak that Gary had left to train for Lord of the Fight the very same day he got word of the tournament.  But that was _three years _ago.  How in the hell could Gary obtain a black belt – an almost sacred honor in to some martial artists – in such a short amount of time?  It took Ash nearly five years to earn his, the average being anywhere between four and six.  And Ash busted his balls off to get that accolade.  Another thing that didn't convince Ash of Gary's status was the belt itself.  Sure it had the texture and weight of an obi, but it was lightly frayed and slightly discolored.  Even worse, it didn't have anything embroidered on it.  _Where'd you get that thing, out of a dumpster?_

            The announcer finished his presentation of the fighters to the audience, and then the referee took his turn to speak.  They would fight three two-minute rounds for points, continuous contact (action would continue even after a point was scored).  Whoever had the most points at the end of the three rounds or whoever scored a knockout first would win.

            "Face me, gentlemen…bow," the official commanded.  Ash and Gary did just that.  "Face each other…bow."  Ash bowed, but Gary did not.  There was a bit of disdain from the crowd, and as the referee attempted to correct the situation, Gary simply flashed the ref a nasty look.  He quickly decided no amount of pleading would change his attitude.  "Fighting positions!"

            Gary leapt into a left-leg-lead fighting stance with a very loud kiay.  Ash simply settled back into a defensive stance, glaring daggers at his foe.  Never once did the smirk stray from Gary's face.

            "Begin!"

            Gary was the first to go on the offensive, charging in and leaping at Ash with a large axe kick.  The loud shout and height of his jump telegraphed the move big time.  It was easy for Ash to evade, as well as follow up with a few roundhouses to Gary's midsection.  He backed off instinctively, and got a nice look at Gary's angered expression.  He shouted loudly as he charged forward, throwing a handful of anger-fueled kicks at Ash, all of which he had little trouble defending against.

            Most of the first round went on in this fashion, with Gary not able to get the upper hand, much to Gary's dismay.  As he saw his opponent's attacks coming, Ash learned more about how his rival fought.  Whatever dojo Gary belonged to clearly went along with the World Tae Kwan Do Federation (WTF).  This is the system used primarily in Tae Kwan Do as an Olympic event—no hand skills allowed (save for blocking), punches score no points.  Which means that Gary would only be throwing kicks at him.  It wouldn't be just this little piece of information that would aid Ash in battle.

            The first round came and went, with Ash in the lead, slightly.  Gary may have had far more attacks than Ash did, but, unlike Ash, the majority of such didn't end in failure or countering.  Ash ended up outscoring Gary 3 to 1.  Gary had no one in his corner save his cheerleader squad, and as the round drew to a close, they went off in chorus, chanting Gary's phrases.

            "Well, who does he think _he _is?" Mrs. Ketchum said.  In her experience, she had only seen Gary Oak's cheerleading squad one time.  "I thought he got rid of those damn cheerleaders a while ago, Professor."

            "The thought had occurred to me as well," Professor Oak answered.

            "I'd pay them no attention," Brock added.  "They're nothing more than a public display of Gary's pretentiousness."

            "Wow, Brock said something intelligent," Misty chimed in.  Brock glanced at her and flashed a look.  "That's rare."

            "Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!"

            That last outburst came from Tracey.  "This guy has his own cheerleading squad?" he asked, shocked.  "How'd he hook _that_ up?"

            Brock, Misty and the Professor hung their heads with a groan.

            Ash was admittedly surprised with some of the aerial tricks Gary was pulling off, but in the end, they added very little to his fighting ability.  Clearly Gary was trying to unnerve Ash with his flashier moves, but it wasn't happening.

            Ash bounced in his stance as he and Gary circled each other, his hands hanging loosely at his sides.  Gary was doing the same during the first round, but Ash had his hands up, guarding his face.  Now, the positions were reversed.  Only, Gary was getting angrier and more frustrated as the fight went on.  Ash made no real attacks of his own; the majority of the points he scored came from countering Gary's assault.

            Gary's foot was above his head, his leg straight, knee locked and against his chest.  With a loud shout, he brought it down hard, only to have it caught by his nemesis.  There were several things he could've done in this position—trip him, waylay his wide-open midsection, let him go only to level him, but Ash decided for a more…passive approach, one that would certainly steam Gary up.  He took a step forward, and pushed the blocked leg backward, causing Gary to tumble to the mats.  He hastily got back to his feet, fuming.

            "Imbecile!" Gary shouted, "Why don't you fight back, huh?!"  He came on the attack again with a few axe and crescent kicks, all of which were blocked or avoided by Ash.  Gary then brought his knee up like he was going to snap kick Ash right in the face, but quickly spun around and thrust his foot out in a nice side kick.  Ash blocked with his left knee and went on the offensive.  He moved in quickly, striking with a handful of back fists, punches and roundhouse and hook kicks that sent Gary reeling.  Gary charged at Ash furiously, and put all he had into a hard thrust punch that connected right with Ash's mouth.  It was, for the lack of a better term, a cheap shot.  Ash's head jerked back violently at the surprise assault, tasting a bit of blood in his mouth.

            The referee gave Gary a verbal warning and penalized him a point, but Gary didn't even blink.  The young grandson of Professor Oak felt not a trace of remorse.  Ash felt around the inside of his mouth with his tongue, noticing a small cut on the inside just below his bottom lip, caused by Gary's fist and his teeth.  It wasn't gushing blood, but leaked enough to irritate Ash.  Every once in a while, enough blood would cumulate in his mouth so that he could clearly taste it on his tongue.  He was angry now, but had to keep his anger in check.

            When the match restarted and Gary went on the attack, Ash was quicker to move.  The first opening he spotted on his foe, Ash unloaded with several hard punches on Gary's midsection.  His loud running-in kiay was snuffed out by several labored grunts and groans as Ash slammed his fists into Gary's prone form.  Once he retreated after the assault, Gary was in a mix of pain and rage.  He lunged forth again, trying to hook kick Ash's head clean off his shoulders.

            _Time to put this to an end, _Ash thought.  It only took him a moment to charge up his electric-powered ki.  He had been very reluctant to unleash it on him during the fight, out of fear that it could cause Gary some serious damage—not to mention give birth to some pretty nasty rumors and farfetched speculation as to what he was taking/injecting/practicing.  However, he wasn't going to woo Gary into unconsciousness with a Pika-powered lightning blast.  No, he decided on something a little more…subtle.

            His right arm out, leading with the elbow, Ash glided on his left foot (his knee drawn up against his body) at Gary in a heartbeat.  Before Gary could register what happened and put up a defense, Ash's elbow slammed into his chin, causing his head to pop back.  At that moment, Ash thrust his left palm out, channeling just a small bit of electricity into the blow.  The force of the blow was enough to knock Gary clear out of the ring and tumbling halfway between the ring and the gym's entrance.

            The whistle blew, stopping the match.  Since Gary was laid out and not getting up any time soon, the match was stopped and Ash was declared the winner.  The crowd was still in shock at the move Ash pulled to end the match, but popped loudly as Ash's hand was raised in victory.

            As he watched the match, Morty was not cheering or showing any emotion.  His face showed a little bit of surprise at Ash's move, but he was otherwise motionless.

            _I hope our battle is a challenge, _Morty thought, _for both of us._

            The locker room was strangely quiet after the match, and for a while, as he was changing, Ash forgot that he wasn't alone.  After the match had concluded and the crowd dissipated, he went down to the locker rooms to get changed into his normal clothes.  Just as he sat down and opened his locker did he notice that Gary had barged in, stomping around and generally not taking his defeat very well.  Repeatedly, the sound of Gary cursing off and punching and kicking lockers, and even throwing a trash can across the room could be heard, but only to the two people using the room at that time.  The locker rooms were far removed from the gym, so even if one listened closely enough, they wouldn't readily make out the sounds of Gary's temper tantrum.

            After Gary had calmed down, there was a deafening silence in the locker room.  After Ash had finished changing, he slung his bag over his shoulder and got up to leave.  As he did, he nervously looked down the aisles as he passed, hoping to find out what condition Gary was in.

            There he was, sitting on one of the long benches that ran between two rows of lockers, staring into the nothingness in front of him.  He wasn't blinking, he wasn't moving; hell, it looked like he wasn't even breathing.  Ash's gaze was fixed on him for what felt like forever, until Gary suddenly turned and noticed Ash.  He glared daggers at his long-time rival.

            "Gee, Gary," Ash started, "I didn't think you'd take one loss this difficult…"

            "Shut up!" Gary hissed.  He got up, grabbed his stuff, and stormed off, shoving Ash to the side as he did.  He got to the door and then stopped, slowly turning around.  "Ash.  Tell me something…"

            "Like what?" Ash asked.

            Gary took a few steps forward until he was face to face with Ash.  "Tell me…" he started, "you were holding back, weren't you?"

            Ash shrugged.  "Okay, a little—"

            "Bullshit!"  His tone lowered.  "I could tell you weren't giving me all you had, Ash.  Either that, or you're not worthy of wearing that black belt of yours."

            "You're one to talk."  
  


            Unfazed by his remark, Gary continued.  "I only felt it for a second, but I knew you were using some sort of special techniques on me.  When you did that dash at me at the end, I knew there's no way you were capable of that on your own.  And when you hit me, I felt my whole body get electrocuted.   So, what's your dirty little secret, Ash?  Huh?"  He leaned forward.  "Tell me."

            Ash thought for a moment.  "Okay, I'll show you.  But if you tell anyone…I doubt they'll believe you."  He dropped his bag, and assumed a fighting stance.  His back hand clenched into a tight fist, and he pushed his electric-powered ki into his fist.  Drawing it up behind him, with a loud yell, he through his arm like he was fast-pitching a softball, sending a softball-sized ball of yellow electricity screaming across the floor.  The ball glided like a bullet across the floor before it slammed into the wall, dispersing in a bright light.

            As Ash gathered his things and left the locker room, he left a stupefied Gary Oak in his wake. 

NAME:  Mortimer Grey

STYLE:  Muy Thai

DOB:  8 October 1978

HEIGHT:  6'1"

WEIGHT:  184 lbs.

HOBBY:  Astrology 

FAVORITE FOOD:  Shiitake

MOST IMPORTANT:  His ghost Pokémon, spirituality

LIKES:  Fortune telling, séances

DISLIKES:  Zealots


End file.
